Chapter 15 - Brother and Sister
Ryan picked up on the third ring. His voice sounded tired, worn down by months of part-time shifts and cheap apartment walls.
“Camille? It’s late. Is everything okay?”
“Pack a bag, Ryan. I’m picking you up in twenty minutes.”
“What? Why?”
“Because Dad didn't just steal your inheritance—he used my name to launder commercial debt, and now dangerous people are coming to my house to collect it. If we don’t find the notary who forged our signatures before sunrise, we’re both going to lose everything.”
There was a heavy silence on the line. I could hear the faint sound of a television playing in the background of his sparse apartment. Then, a definitive rustle of movement.
“I’m coming down,” Ryan said, his voice dropping its defensive edge and hardening into something resolute. “Be outside in ten.”
When I pulled my sedan up to the curb of his apartment complex in Raleigh, Ryan was already standing on the sidewalk, a canvas duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He climbed into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door shut as I hit the gas heading south toward Clayton.
“You okay?” he asked quietly as we merged onto the highway.
“I’ve been better,” I admitted, keeping my eyes fixed on the illuminated asphalt ahead. “How are you holding up with the apartment?”
“It’s small,” Ryan said, staring out the side window at the dark pine trees rushing past. “Mallory filed the formal custody papers yesterday. I only get Owen and Sadie on weekends now. It’s... quiet. Too quiet.”
“It gets better,” I said, though my own house was currently surrounded by police tape and security motion sensors. “Once we clear this mess, we build our own rules. No more Dad. No more hidden debts.”
May you like
Ryan looked over at me, the dashboard light catching the faint lines of stress around his eyes. “I’m sorry, Camille. For Thanksgiving. For acting like your house was just a backup plan for my life. Dad spent our whole lives teaching us that family assets were communal property as long as he was the one holding the purse strings. I bought into it. I shouldn't have.”
“We survived him,” I replied, reaching across the center console to give his hand a brief, grounding squeeze. “Now let’s go find Linda Geller.”
