Chapter 9 - Picking Up the Pieces
We didn't stay at the mansion.
Grant went upstairs, packed two large suitcases with his essentials, and left his family key ring sitting on the mahogany console table in the foyer. He didn't look back once as we walked out the heavy oak doors.
We drove back to our modest two-bedroom bungalow on the outskirts of town in Reid’s truck. Grant rode in silence, his hand firmly interlaced with mine. His fingers were cold, but his grip was unyielding.
When we arrived, Reid made a pot of strong black coffee while I sat at the kitchen table, tending to the scrapes on my arms with antiseptic and gauze. Grant sat across from me, his eyes bloodshot, watching my every movement with profound sorrow.
"I’m sorry, Laurel," Grant whispered, resting his head in his hands. "I should have stopped her sooner. I should have moved us out of the state the second I saw how she treated you at Thanksgiving. I let her poison our lives because I thought... I thought if I stayed close, I could preserve some shred of a normal family."
I reached across the table, gently lifting his chin until he met my gaze.
"Grant, you stood in front of Warren. You stood up to your mother in front of every person she ever cared about impressing," I said softly. "You chose me. That’s all that matters."
"The firm will take a hit," Grant said with a heavy sigh. "The scandal will be in the local papers tomorrow morning. Warren’s fraud, Mom’s arrest... every client in the county is going to know."
"Let them know," Reid said, setting three steaming mugs on the table. "Good clients hire you for your blueprints, Grant, not your brother's morals. Besides, you’re free of them now. That house was a gilded cage with a rot in the foundation."
Grant nodded slowly, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. "Marcus Sterling told me before he left... the bank is foreclosing on the estate next month anyway. Warren defaulted on three payments on that fraudulent equity line. Mom’s going to lose the house regardless."
"And Warren?" I asked.
"Ten to fifteen years, minimum," Reid answered. "Sterling’s fraud investigators have been tracking similar offshore transactions for six months. Warren wasn't just gambling; he was laundering money for an unlicensed bookmaker out of Atlanta. He's going to federal prison, Laurel."
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For the first time in hours, I felt the tight knot in my chest begin to unravel. The nightmare was over. The truth was out, the bullies were facing justice, and our life was our own again.
Or so I thought.
