Chapter 8 - The Bank Statements and the Hidden Vacation Fund
“Get your hands off me!” Brandon screamed, struggling against the officer’s grip as his sunglasses fell from his head and clattered across the floor. “Do you know who I am?! I’m a senior regional director at Apex Logistics! I pay sixty thousand dollars a year in property taxes! Evelyn, tell them to take these cuffs off me right now!”
I stood up from the sofa and walked slowly toward him.
I held up the Southwest Airlines receipt right in front of his eyes.
“You canceled his ticket on May 25th at 2:14 PM, Brandon,” I whispered. “Ten minutes after I told you my mother was dead, you called the airline, canceled my eight-year-old boy’s seat, pocketed four hundred and eighty-two dollars, and bought yourself that watch on your wrist.”
Brandon’s jaw clenched. He stopped struggling, realizing for the first time that his digital footprint had completely betrayed him.
“He’s not my son, Evelyn!” Brandon suddenly snarled, his eyes bulging with bitter, suppressed rage. “Why should I spend my hard-earned money taking another man’s kid to a five-star resort?! I’ve spent five years paying for his clothes, his food, his school supplies! You had your own inheritance coming from your mother! Why should Lucas and Alyssa have to share their vacation budget with him?!”
The entire room fell dead silent.
Lucas and Alyssa stared at their father as if he were a complete stranger.
“The house we live in,” I said, stepping inches from his face, “was purchased with the life insurance money left by Liam’s father. The seed money you used to buy your equity stake at Apex Logistics came from a loan against my pre-marital assets. You didn't pay for Liam’s life, Brandon. Liam’s father paid for yours.”
Detective Ramirez pulled Brandon toward the front door.
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“Brandon Miller, you are under arrest for First-Degree Child Endangerment, Aggravated Child Neglect, and Tampering with Evidence,” Ramirez recited, reading him his Miranda rights as they dragged him down the front walkway in broad daylight.
The neighbors on both sides of the street stepped out onto their lawns, watching in shock as the neighborhood’s ‘model father’ was shoved into the back of a police cruiser in his tropical shirt and shorts.
