Chapter 4 - The Betrayal Goes Deeper
Brooke’s eyes darted frantically toward Ben’s hands. “What are you talking about?”
“You told me in the text that you *hired* someone to take that video through the clinic window,” Ben said, stepping closer to her. “Who did you hire, Brooke?”
Brooke pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.
“You didn’t hire a private investigator,” Ben continued, tapping the screen to bring up a second series of documents. “A licensed PI would have known that recording through the window of a private medical facility without consent is a gross violation of privacy and state surveillance laws. You didn’t have the money for a real PI because Greg’s business accounts are overdrawn by eleven grand.”
Greg’s head snapped up. “What? How do you know that?”
“Because I’m the one Mom asked to review the family trust financials two weeks ago, Greg,” Ben said bluntly. “Brooke didn’t hire an investigator. She bribed Marcus Vance. The twenty-year-old college kid who works part-time at the front desk of St. Jude’s Rehabilitation. The kid who plays on Tyler’s travel baseball team.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. Marcus Vance was the boy who greeted Lily at the reception desk every Tuesday and Thursday. He was the one who handed her stickers, who asked her about her art projects, who held the heavy double doors open for her chair.
“You bribed an employee of a pediatric clinic?” Aunt Sarah gasped from across the room, covering her mouth in horror. “Brooke, that’s... that’s illegal!”
“It was fifty bucks!” Brooke shouted, cornered and completely unhinged. “Fifty bucks for him to leave the blinds tilted so someone could record! That’s not a crime! It’s exposing fraud!”
“Marcus Vance isn't just an employee,” Ben replied, his voice dropping into chilling legal precision. “He is a covered entity under HIPAA regulations. And recording a minor undergoing medical treatment without parental consent, inside an accredited facility, and distributing that footage for financial gain? That is a Class E felony under state law, Brooke. It’s also grounds for Marcus to face immediate federal civil penalties and criminal charges.”
Brooke’s face lost every shred of color. Her eyes darted wildly toward Greg, who had now buried his face in his hands, groaning audibly.
“I called Dr. Thorne twenty minutes ago,” Ben said, pointing toward the driveway outside. “While I was sitting in my car waiting for you to show your hand. Dr. Thorne is currently on the phone with the head of hospital security and the local precinct. Marcus Vance is already being questioned. And do you know what Marcus told security the moment they threatened him with expulsion from his university?”
Silence hung over the room like a guillotine.
“Marcus told them everything,” Ben said. “He sent them the screenshots of your Venmo payment, Brooke. Fifty dollars with the memo: *‘Catch the faker on camera.’* And he handed over the text messages where you explicitly instructed him to find out Lily’s exact appointment schedule so you could coordinate Tyler’s stunt today.”
Lily, sitting beside me in her chair, let out a small, trembling whimper. I immediately dropped to one knee beside her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, pressing my cheek against her forehead.
“You wanted to traumatize a child,” I said, looking up at my sister through tears of incandescent fury. “You wanted your son to physically rip her mobility away from her in front of our entire family, so you could film her falling, post it online, and shame us into surrendering our father’s legacy.”
“Maya, please,” Brooke stammered, taking a step backward. Her voice had lost all its venom, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated panic of a narcissist who had run headfirst into an immovable wall. “I was just stressed! We’re drowning in debt! Greg is going to lose the house! Tyler won’t get into the academy! I did it for my family!”
“Your family is standing in this room,” Mom said, her voice shaking with quiet devastation. “And you just destroyed it.”
Evelyn walked over to the front door and pulled it wide open.
The December wind rushed inside, swirling snow flurries across the welcome mat. The cold hit us immediately, biting and clean, cutting through the heavy stench of betrayal that had filled the home.
May you like
“Get out of my house, Brooke,” our mother said, her finger pointing into the dark, snowy street. “Take your husband, take your son, and get out. You are no longer welcome under this roof. Not today. Not ever.”
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