Chapter 3 - The Confrontation on the Stairs
Brandon took two steps up the stairs, towering over me with that familiar look of condescending annoyance he had perfected over eight years of marriage. Gertrude hovered behind him in the foyer, her arms crossed over her designer cardigan, her lips pursed in disapproval.
“You’re blocking cards?” Gertrude called out, her voice dripping with maternal entitlement. “Is that how you treat your husband and the family that keeps this household running? While you’re hiding in your office all week, Brandon has been managing the estate logistics!”
“Estate logistics,” I repeated, walking slowly down the stairs until I stood three steps above Brandon. I looked down at him, my gaze so steady that he instinctively paused his advance.
“Yes, estate logistics!” Brandon scoffed, running a hand through his gelled hair. “We’re trying to upgrade our living situation. Hailey is staying with us because her apartment lease fell through, and we’re looking into expanding the property value. But you—you’re so tight-fisted with your corporate salary that you act like every penny is coming out of your personal flesh.”
“My salary,” I said softly.
“Yes, your salary!” Brandon threw his hands up. “Though let’s be honest, without my corporate connections in commercial real estate, you’d still be an entry-level analyst. Now unblock the cards. The architect is arriving at nine sharp tomorrow morning, and I need the wire transfer cleared before then.”
I didn't blink. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my phone, and tapped the screen once.
“There won’t be an architect tomorrow, Brandon,” I said.
Brandon frowned, stepping up another stair. “What are you talking about?”
“I spoke with our bank’s fraud department at ten o’clock tonight,” I lied smoothly, knowing that the official fraud report was scheduled for the morning. “I informed them that my electronic signature was forged on a home equity line of credit application, and that multiple unauthorized credit lines have been opened in my name without my consent.”
The color drained from Brandon’s face so fast it was as if someone had pulled a plug in his veins. The wine-induced flush vanished, replaced by an ashen, sickly gray.
“You… you did what?” he whispered.
Down in the foyer, Gertrude dropped her handbag. The heavy leather thud echoed loudly against the tile floor.
“You called the bank?” Gertrude shrieked, marching up the stairs to grab Brandon’s arm. “Are you out of your mind, Charlotte? You’re going to audit the family accounts over a few minor business expenses?”
“Minor business expenses?” I let out a short, humorless laugh that made Gertrude flinch. “You spent eight hundred dollars on king crab and imported wine while my eleven-year-old daughter sat in a dark kitchen eating ten-cent instant noodles because you told her my money was only for you and your son.”
Brandon swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward his mother. “Char… look, that was just a joke. Mom was just teasing Skylar. Kids take things too seriously—”
“She saw you,” I cut him off, my voice dropping an octave, carrying an authority that silenced the entire hallway. “She saw every bit of it. And she saw the way you treat this house like a hotel where you are the guests and we are the staff.”
I stepped down another stair, bringing myself eye-to-eye with my husband.
“Get out,” I said.
Brandon blinked. “What?”
May you like
“I said, get out of my house. Both of you. Pack your bags tonight. If you aren't gone by seven o’clock tomorrow morning, I won't just let the bank handle the fraud investigation—I’ll hand the police the six months of wiretaps, loan applications, and forged notary documents I’ve been keeping in my safety deposit box.”
---
