Chapter 6 - Brielle’s Cold Feet
Two days later, the silence from Trent’s camp broke—but not from Trent.
I was sitting in my newly leased temporary office when an unfamiliar number flashed across my screen. Normally, I let unknown calls go straight to voicemail, but something told me to press accept.
"Laurel?" a trembling, breathless voice whispered through the speaker.
I paused. "Who is this?"
"It's Brielle. Please... please don't hang up."
I leaned back in my leather chair, arching an eyebrow. "Brielle. I can't imagine what you and I could possibly have to discuss."
"I made a mistake," she rushed out, her words tripping over each other. I could hear muffled traffic and wind in the background; she was calling from a street corner. "Trent lied to me. He lied about everything! He told me the divorce was already finalized months ago. He told me you were just an old business partner who was trying to sabotage his tech startup!"
"And you believed him without seeing a single court filing?" I asked, completely unimpressed. "You're twenty-two, Brielle, not twelve. You knew he was married."
"He said he was putting the company shares in my name because of tax structuring!" she sobbed. "Laurel, yesterday two detectives came to my apartment. They asked about Golden Oak Holdings. They said my name is on an offshore wire authorization for three million dollars from First Horizon Bank. They said I could be charged with conspiracy to commit bank fraud!"
The cold panic in her voice was genuine. Trent had used her as a disposable cut-out, setting her up to take the fall if First Horizon's compliance triggered an audit.
"You are on the documents, Brielle," I said coldly. "You signed them."
"He told me they were corporate director forms! I didn't know!" She broke down completely. "Trent doesn't have any money left, Laurel. His personal credit cards are declining. He tried to get me to pawn the Cartier bracelet he bought me for my birthday, but when I took it to the jeweler, it turned out to be fake! He's broke!"
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I almost smiled. Trent’s entire lifestyle had been an illusion funded by my credit line. "What do you want, Brielle?"
"I want immunity," she whispered. "Trent kept a second laptop. A black ThinkPad he keeps hidden in the trunk of his Mercedes under the spare tire. It has all the spreadsheets—the offshore accounts, the forged vendor invoices, everything he’s been skimming for the last two years. If I get it for you... will you tell the DA I cooperated?"
