Chapter 8: The Man Who Called
Brooke stared at the screen for two full rings.
"Don't answer it," I said.
"I have to." She was already standing.
"If I don't answer, he'll know I'm building a case.
Right now he still thinks he has time."
"Brooke—"
"I've been careful for fourteen months, Mom.
Let me be careful for five more minutes."
She answered it.
She didn't put it on speaker, but she held the phone slightly away from her ear and I could hear his voice — the same unhurried voice from the recording, older and more deliberate than Grant's.
"Brooke.
I heard about last night.
I wanted to call and check on you."
"That's kind of you, Daniel."
"Grant can be — he has a temper.
I've spoken to him about it before.
I hope you know that what happened wasn't something any of us wanted."
"Of course."
"I also want you to know that whatever legal steps you're considering, there's no need for this to become complicated.
Grant is willing to be reasonable.
I'm willing to help facilitate something that works for everyone."
"That's very generous."
A pause.
He was listening for something in her voice.
I could almost hear him recalibrating.
"Brooke.
The accounts — I know you've seen some of the transfers.
I want to explain the context, because on paper it can look like something it isn't.
The arrangement Grant and I had was a legitimate business structure.
Your contributions were investments with full expectation of return."
"I see."
"If you'd be willing to sit down with me — just the two of us, no attorneys — I think we could clarify a great deal."
Brooke looked at me across the kitchen table.
"I appreciate that, Daniel," she said.
"I'll think about it."
"Good.
That's all I'm asking.
Just think about it."
"I will.
Thank you for calling."
She ended the call and set the phone on the table.
"He's trying to get you alone before the filing goes through," I said.
"Yes." She sat back down.
"He doesn't know Sylvia has already filed.
He thinks he still has a window."
"What will you do?"
"Nothing.
Sylvia will call him." She picked up her spoon.
"He made one mistake on that call."
"What?"
"He said my contributions were investments with full expectation of return." She looked at me.
"I never agreed to any investment.
I signed refinancing documents.
He just confirmed he knew what the money was and where it came from."
I looked at her.
"You recorded that call," I said.
"My phone records every call automatically," she said.
"Has done since last March."
She ate her soup.
I watched my daughter — this woman who had spent a year being quietly erased, who had spent fourteen months being quietly precise — and I thought about how badly I had underestimated what she was doing while I was worrying about her.
"Brooke," I said.
"When did you become this person?"
She thought about it.
"I think I always was," she said.
"I just needed a reason to be."
Three days later, Sylvia called.
"The DA's office has reviewed the recordings," she said.
"They're opening a formal investigation.
Grant was served this morning.
Marsh will be served by end of day." A pause.
"There's something else."
"What?" I asked.
Brooke was beside me, close enough to hear.
"Grant's mother.
She retained her own attorney this morning — separate from Grant's.
She's already attempting to negotiate a cooperation agreement with the DA."
Brooke went very still.
"She's turning on him," I said.
"She's trying to," Sylvia said.
"Whether they accept it depends on what she has to offer." Another pause.
"I thought you should know before it becomes public.
Because it will become public.
Probably within the week."
Brooke stood up and walked to the window.
She stood there with her back to me, looking out at the street.
"Brooke," I said softly.
She didn't turn around for a long moment.
When she did, her eyes were dry.
May you like
"Good," she said.
"Let them turn on each other."
