Chapter 7: What Brent Said to the Officers
The lead officer was a woman named Detective Carver.
She was in her forties, unhurried, and she listened to Mason for six minutes without interrupting.
Then she looked at the two piles of documents Lily had sorted.
"Your daughter did this?" she said.
"Yes," Mason said.
Detective Carver looked at Lily.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Lily said.
The detective nodded slowly.
"Okay." She turned to her partner.
"Bag everything in the left pile first."
Brent stepped forward.
"I'd like to make a statement."
Detective Carver looked at him.
"I'm Mason's brother.
This is a family financial dispute that has been blown significantly out of proportion.
My sister-in-law has a history of anxiety and confusion around financial matters, and we were attempting to help manage—"
"Sir." Detective Carver held up one hand.
"Are you represented by an attorney?"
"I don't need an attorney.
I haven't done anything—"
"Then I'd strongly suggest you stop talking until you have one." She turned back to Mason.
"The document with the alleged forged signature — is that in the pile?"
"Top of the left stack," Lily said.
The detective's partner crouched beside the pile and photographed it before touching it.
Brent tried again.
"The storage unit is registered in my brother's name.
Everything in here technically belongs to—"
"The unit was registered without my knowledge or consent," Mason said.
"I've never been here before today."
"Gerald can confirm that," Emma said.
"He told us himself that Brent was the one who came in regularly."
Detective Carver made a note.
Nicole had not spoken since the officers arrived.
She stood slightly apart from Brent now — a gap of maybe three feet that had not been there twenty minutes ago.
Small.
Visible.
Brent noticed it.
"Nicole." His voice carried a warning.
She didn't look at him.
"Nicole."
Detective Carver looked between them.
"Ma'am.
Is there something you'd like to add?"
Nicole's arms were still crossed.
She stared at a point on the floor somewhere between her feet and the filing boxes.
"He told me Emma had agreed to it," she said.
"All of it.
He showed me a text message.
He said Emma had given permission for the account transfer."
"That's not—" Brent started.
"He showed me a text," Nicole said again, louder.
"I believed him.
I shouldn't have.
But I believed him." She finally looked up.
Not at the detective.
At Emma.
"I'm sorry.
I know that doesn't — I know it doesn't fix anything.
But I'm sorry."
Emma looked at her for a long moment.
She didn't say anything.
That was its own kind of answer.
Detective Carver's partner stood up from the document pile.
"Detective.
The notary stamp on the transfer document — the license number is printed.
I can run it."
"Do it now," she said.
She looked at Brent.
Brent looked at the document in the officer's gloved hand.
His face had gone through several things in the past hour.
The smile from the backyard.
The calculation in the doorway.
The performance for the officers.
All of it was gone now.
What was left was something older and smaller.
May you like
"I want a lawyer," he said.
"That's the first smart thing you've said today," Detective Carver told him.
