The room went silent.
“You were supposed to lose it eight years ago,” I continued. “The bank had already started the process. You remember that week, don’t you? Mom cried for three days. Brent stopped answering calls. You told everyone you had handled it.”
My father’s nostrils flared.
“You didn’t handle it. I did.”
My mother lowered herself slowly back onto the sofa.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“Yes, you did,” Thomas said.
Her head snapped toward him.
Thomas stepped forward, leaning slightly on his cane. “Maybe not about Northstar. But you knew Arthur’s story was a lie.”
My father’s voice dropped. “Careful.”
“No,” Thomas said. “I was careful when you forged my signature. I was careful when you emptied the business accounts and told the town I had disappeared with the money. I was careful when your lawyer threatened to bury me under lawsuits I couldn’t afford to fight. Careful cost me my company, my name, and my family.”
