Chapter 2: The Folder on Father's Desk
Nobody moved for several seconds.
The fire crackled behind us.
Brielle stood beside the stone bench, clutching her handbag against her chest like someone might steal it.
"You're embarrassing me," she told Dad.
He didn't turn around.
"Inside, Brielle.""
"Why are you treating me like a criminal?""
"Because you lied to my face.""
She looked toward Mom.
"Are you going to let him talk to me like this?""
Mom placed her wineglass on the outdoor table.
"Robert, perhaps we should discuss this privately.""
Dad turned.
"We've spent thirty years discussing things privately. That's how this family got here.""
The words seemed to land heavily in the yard.
I followed them inside.
The mansion smelled of expensive candles and roasted garlic. Everything looked exactly as it had before dinner: polished marble floors, enormous paintings, crystal lighting, and fresh white flowers arranged in silver vases.
But something had changed.
For once, nobody was pretending everything was fine.
Dad walked into his study and switched on the desk lamp.
"Sit down.""
Brielle remained standing.
"I'm not a child.""
"Then stop behaving like one.""
Her jaw tightened.
I sat in the chair nearest the window.
Mom stood beside the bookcase, twisting her wedding ring.
Dad placed the black handbag on the desk.
"Brielle, how much did this cost?""
She blinked.
"What?""
"The bag.""
"Why does that matter?""
"Answer the question.""
"About four thousand dollars.""
Dad nodded slowly.
"And how much did Nia's dress cost?""
"I don't know. Why are we comparing bags and dresses?""
"Because you decided one person's belongings were disposable.""
Brielle rolled her eyes.
"This is ridiculous.""
Dad opened the desk drawer and removed a small envelope.
He pulled out a receipt.
"Your mother told me you purchased this handbag using the family business account.""
Brielle's expression changed.
"That's not what happened.""
Dad placed the receipt on the desk.
"The transaction was processed through Carter Holdings.""
"Grant was going to reimburse it.""
"When?""
"Eventually.""
"That's what you said about the last three purchases.""
Brielle crossed her arms.
"Grant handles those things.""
Dad looked at her.
"Your husband has nothing to do with this conversation.""
I watched my sister's fingers tighten around the handbag strap.
I hadn't known about the business account.
I hadn't known Dad was tracking her purchases.
But I knew Brielle had never been particularly careful with money.
She and Grant lived in a luxurious home outside Atlanta. Their holidays were documented on social media. Designer clothes arrived at their doorstep almost weekly.
Whenever someone asked how they afforded it, Brielle smiled and said they were doing very well.
Dad leaned back.
"Do you remember the arrangement we made when you married Grant?""
"Which one?""
"The financial arrangement.""
She gave a dismissive laugh.
"Oh, that.""
"Yes. That.""
He pulled another document from the folder.
"When Grant's investment company experienced financial difficulties, I agreed to provide temporary support. I also agreed to let you use a company credit facility for approved business expenses.""
Brielle nodded impatiently.
"And?""
"And you were supposed to provide receipts and account for every transaction.""
"I did.""
"No, you didn't.""
She looked at Mom.
Mom suddenly became very interested in the bookshelf.
Dad continued.
"Your sister's dress was purchased with her own money. Money she earned. Money she saved. And you destroyed it because you couldn't stand seeing her proud of herself.""
Brielle laughed.
"You're making this sound like some terrible crime.""
"No. I'm making it sound like what it is. Cruelty.""
I looked down at my hands.
I didn't want Dad to punish Brielle.
I wanted her to understand what she'd done.
Those were different things.
"Brielle," I said quietly, "why did you do it?""
She turned toward me.
"Don't start.""
"Just answer me.""
"You always do this.""
"Do what?""
"Make everything about how hard your life is.""
I stared at her.
"My dress was burning, Brielle.""
"And now Dad is acting like I destroyed the family.""
"You lied about throwing it into the fire.""
"Because I didn't want to hear you crying all night!""
Dad stood.
"Enough.""
He opened the folder again and removed a printed statement.
"Brielle, there's something else.""
She glanced at the paper.
"What now?""
"Three months ago, you requested an additional transfer from the company.""
"Yes.""
"You told me it was for the renovation of your property.""
"It was.""
"Then why did the money go to an account connected to Grant's private investment firm?""
Brielle went still.
I looked between them.
"What's happening?""
Dad didn't answer me immediately.
He slid the statement across the desk.
"Nearly eighty thousand dollars has been transferred out of the account over the past four months.""
Brielle's face hardened.
"Grant manages the investment.""
"Grant isn't authorized to move that money.""
"He was going to replace it.""
"With what?""
She looked away.
Dad tapped the statement.
"Where did the money go?""
"I don't know.""
"Then find out.""
"I said I don't know!""
For the first time, her voice cracked.
Mom stepped forward.
"Robert, please. Brielle's under a lot of pressure.""
Dad turned toward her.
"You're defending her again.""
"I'm her mother.""
"And Nia is your daughter too.""
Silence.
I felt those words in my chest.
Mom looked at me, but I turned away.
Dad removed his glasses.
"I've tried to help both of you. But helping someone doesn't mean allowing them to hurt everyone around them.""
Brielle shook her head.
"This is because of the dress. You're punishing me because I burned a stupid dress.""
Dad's expression didn't change.
"No. The dress simply showed me something I should have noticed years ago.""
He closed the folder.
"Your access to the family business accounts is suspended pending a financial review.""
Brielle shot to her feet.
"You can't do that!""
"I can.""
"Grant will never forgive you!""
"That's between Grant and me.""
She grabbed her handbag.
"Fine. Keep your money. Keep your precious little Nia. You always wanted her to be the favorite.""
I finally stood.
"Nobody is asking you to love me, Brielle. I'm asking you to stop hurting me.""
She turned.
For a moment, I thought she might apologize.
Instead, she leaned closer.
"You have no idea what you've just started.""
Then she walked out.
The front door slammed.
Mom followed her without looking at either Dad or me.
The study became painfully quiet.
Dad sat down.
I noticed his hands were trembling slightly.
"Dad?""
He looked at me.
"I'm sorry.""
I swallowed.
"For what?""
"For allowing this to become normal.""
I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault.
But I couldn't.
Because part of me remembered every birthday, every family gathering, every time Brielle had taken something from me and everyone had called it sibling rivalry.
Dad reached across the desk.
"Your dress mattered, Nia. Not because of what it cost. Because you worked for it.""
I nodded, trying not to cry again.
Then he opened a second drawer.
He took out a small silver key and placed it in my palm.
"There's something I need you to see tomorrow.""
"What is it?""
He looked toward the closed study door.
"Something your grandfather left behind.""
I turned the key over.
It was old, with a tiny engraved letter C.
"What does it open?""
Dad's voice dropped.
"Your grandfather's private office at the Carter Foundation.""
I frowned.
"I thought that office was sealed.""
"It was.""
"Why?""
Dad looked at me for a long moment.
"Because your grandfather left instructions that neither your sister nor your mother was supposed to know about until the right time.""
My stomach tightened.
"What instructions?""
Dad opened the folder one final time.
At the top of the first page was my full name.
Nia Elise Carter.
Below it was a date from almost ten years earlier.
And beside that date was a handwritten note from my grandfather.
If Nia ever earns her place without asking for it, give her the key.
I stared at the words.
My grandfather had died when I was sixteen.
He had been the only person in the family who never made me feel like I had to compete with Brielle.
But why had he left something for me?
And why had Dad waited until now to tell me?
Before I could ask, his phone began vibrating.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Who is it?"" I asked.
Dad answered without taking his eyes off me.
"Grant.""
He put the call on speaker.
A man's voice filled the study.
"Robert, we need to talk. Brielle just called me crying.""
Dad remained silent.
Grant continued.
"And before you do anything else, I need you to understand something.""
There was a pause.
"That money you're asking about? It isn't where you think it is.""
Dad slowly straightened.
"Then where is it?""
Grant exhaled.
"Your wife knows.""
I looked toward the hallway.
May you like
Mom was gone.
And suddenly, the handbag, the dress, and the missing money seemed like pieces of a much larger betrayal.
