The same Lucas who hugged me every Christmas and called me the sister he’d never had.
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
David continued searching.
Northstar Holdings had a mailing address in Greenfield.
I knew the street.
Lucas and his wife lived there.
Claire leaned back.
“Your husband moved marital funds into his brother’s company less than twenty-four hours after assaulting your mother.”
“Brandon didn’t hit her,” I said automatically.
Claire’s face softened.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
By afternoon, emergency motions had been filed.
The bank’s fraud department was contacted.
The court was asked to restrain further transfers and preserve assets.
I thought that would be the worst discovery of the day.
It wasn’t.
At 4:40, David called.
“You need to come back.”
Mom stayed at the hotel.
Claire came with me.
When we entered David’s office, printed pages covered his desk.
He tapped one.
“Northstar transferred part of the money this morning.”
“Where?”
“Two places. Forty thousand to a title company. Thirty-five thousand to another LLC.”
“What title company?”
He slid the page toward me.
Lakefront Title Services.
A property address appeared beneath it.
Oak Creek.
I recognized the neighborhood but not the house.
Then David turned his monitor around.
A real estate listing filled the screen.
New construction.
Four bedrooms.
Three-car garage.
Finished basement.
The kind of house Brandon had spent years saying we couldn’t afford yet.
Status: pending.
Buyer information wasn’t public, but the title transfer named Northstar Holdings.
I whispered, “He bought a house.”
“His brother’s company bought it.”
“With our money.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the photograph.
Gray siding.
Black shutters.
A wide kitchen window.
I could almost hear Brandon telling me we should keep saving.
Another year.
Maybe two.
