“Put him on.”
“No.”
“Put him on the phone, Dad.”
“No.”
“You think this makes you powerful?”
I looked at the blue folder, at the ink still drying on my name.
“No. It reminds me I should have stopped protecting you sooner.”
I ended the call.
The room became quiet.
Martin removed his glasses and cleaned them with a white cloth. “He’ll come after you.”
“I know.”
“Legally, he has nothing.”
“I know that too.”
“But angry men don’t always start with the law.”
I looked at him. “Neither do frightened ones.”
Martin nodded once, then opened another folder.
“There’s something else you need to see.”
He slid a packet across the table.
At first, I thought it was another closing document. But when I saw the first page, my breath changed.
Bank statements.
Credit reports.
Loan summaries.
Amber’s name appeared again and again. Brandon’s too. Lines of credit. Private lenders. A second mortgage application that had been rejected because they did not own the property. Luxury car payments. Jewelry financing. A business loan Brandon had personally guaranteed for a startup that looked, on paper, like it had been assembled from smoke and vanity.
