Chapter 6 - MY SISTER'S PERFECT LIFE WAS A LIEMallory called me the next morning.
For the first time in twelve years, she sounded uncertain.
“Paige?”
I was standing in my kitchen, watching rain slide down the enormous windows overlooking the orchard.
“Yes?”
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
“I mean in person.”
I hesitated.
“Why?”
She exhaled shakily.
“Because something's wrong with Grant.”
I stared out at the trees.
That was an understatement.
“What's wrong?”
“He's been disappearing at night. He says he's meeting attorneys, but he won't let me see any documents.”
I remained quiet.
“And Mom keeps telling me not to worry,” she continued. “But every time I ask why we had to sell the house, she changes the subject.”
“Mallory, how much do you know about your finances?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know where the money from selling your home went?”
A pause.
“Into an account Grant manages.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Do you know whether the mortgage was paid off?”
Another pause.
“He said everything was handled.”
I closed my eyes.
Thirteen years earlier, my mother had treated Mallory like porcelain.
Everything was arranged for her.
Every inconvenience removed.
Every problem solved by somebody else.
And now she was thirty-one years old with three children, no home, and a husband who controlled every financial decision.
The privilege that once protected her had become a trap.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At the hotel.”
“Are Mom and Grant there?”
“They went to meet someone.”
“Can you leave without them?”
“Yes.”
“Come to Evelyn Brooks's office downtown. One o'clock.”
Mallory hesitated.
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“I don't know yet.”
She started crying.
“Paige, I know you hate me.”
I swallowed.
“I don't hate you, Mallory.”
“You should.”
“That's not the same as trusting you.”
She went quiet.
Then she whispered, “I'll be there.”
At one o'clock, Mallory arrived wearing jeans and a gray sweater.
Without makeup, she looked startlingly similar to the girl I remembered.
We were identical twins, but time had changed us differently.
She had spent twelve years living inside other people's decisions.
I had spent twelve years making my own.
Her face carried a softness I no longer recognized in myself.
She sat across from me without attempting a hug.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she said, “I didn't know you were sleeping in your car.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“After Mom kicked you out. She told me you moved in with some rich boyfriend.”
I stared.
“Mallory, I didn't even have a boyfriend.”
“I know that now.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
She looked down.
“Mom said you didn't want anything to do with us.”
“And you believed her?”
“I wanted to.”
Her honesty surprised me.
She twisted her wedding ring.
“Because if I believed you were fine, then I didn't have to feel guilty.”
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Then Evelyn entered.
She sat beside me and placed a folder on the table.
“Mallory, I need to ask you several questions. You are not required to answer them. I'm Paige's attorney, not yours, and you may want independent legal advice.”
Mallory nodded.
Evelyn began with the occupancy agreement.
“Did you see Paige sign this?”
“No.”
“Did you speak with Paige about moving onto her property?”
“No.”
“Who told you she had agreed?”
“Mom.”
“Did Grant mention receiving forty thousand dollars from Diane?”
Mallory stared.
“What forty thousand dollars?”
Evelyn showed her the document.
Mallory read it.
Then her expression changed.
“That's not true.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
She looked at me.
“Mom told us she'd spoken to you months ago. She said you were finally ready to make peace with the family.”
I said nothing.
“She told Grant you'd offered us the two guesthouses until we got back on our feet.”
“And the main house?” I asked.
Mallory looked embarrassed.
“Mom said you were planning to move into one of the cottages because the big house felt lonely.”
I stared.
“She actually said that?”
Mallory nodded.
For the first time all week, I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the lies had become absurd.
My mother had apparently invented an entire fictional version of me—a lonely, guilt-ridden millionaire who wanted to surrender her home to the family that abandoned her.
“Mallory,” I said, “I haven't spoken to Mom in twelve years.”
She looked miserable.
“I know.”
“Then why would you believe I'd suddenly give you my house?”
She wiped her eyes.
“Because I wanted it to be true.”
That answer hurt more than another lie would have.
Evelyn continued.
“Did you know your husband has financial problems?”
Mallory nodded slowly.
“I knew his construction company had lost some contracts.”
“Do you know the amount?”
“No.”
“Have you seen any bank statements?”
“No.”
Evelyn slid a document toward her.
Mallory read the first page.
Her face went white.
“Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars?”
“That's the documented outstanding debt we've identified so far,” Evelyn said. “There may be more.”
Mallory shook her head.
“That can't be right.”
“I'm afraid it appears to be.”
“He told me the house sold for eight hundred and ninety thousand dollars.”
“What was the mortgage balance?”
“About four hundred thousand.”
“And the remaining proceeds?”
Mallory swallowed.
“He said they were invested.”
Evelyn looked at me.
Then she looked back at Mallory.
“Some funds appear to have gone toward Grant's business obligations.”
Mallory pressed both hands against her mouth.
“Without telling me?”
“We're still verifying the details.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Then she said, “There's someone else, isn't there?”
The room became still.
Evelyn didn't answer immediately.
Mallory looked at me.
“Paige?”
I felt sick.
There had been a time when Mallory would have delighted in watching me suffer.
But the woman sitting across from me now looked genuinely terrified.
“You need to speak with an attorney of your own,” I said softly.
“Please.”
I glanced at Evelyn.
She gave a small nod.
“Mallory,” I said, “we have evidence suggesting Grant has been involved with Brooke Ellis.”
She blinked.
“Who's Brooke?”
“My former assistant.”
Mallory shook her head.
“No.”
I said nothing.
“No,” she repeated. “Grant wouldn't.”
I remembered telling myself similar things about my mother.
She wouldn't really throw me out.
She wouldn't leave me outside in the cold.
She wouldn't let my sister take everything.
Sometimes denial is simply the last place hope hides.
Evelyn showed Mallory one photograph.
Then another.
Mallory stared.
Her mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Then she pushed her chair back and ran toward the restroom.
We heard her vomiting.
I remained seated, feeling strangely numb.
Evelyn watched me carefully.
“You don't have to rescue her.”
“I know.”
“Whatever you decide, your property and safety come first.”
“I know that too.”
But I was thinking about the children.
Three little faces standing outside my gate.
They hadn't chosen their father.
They hadn't chosen their grandmother.
And they certainly hadn't chosen to become pawns in a scheme involving forged documents and stolen inheritance.
Mallory returned ten minutes later.
Her face was pale.
She sat down, gripping a tissue.
“Does Mom know?” she whispered.
Evelyn looked at the folder.
“We have reason to believe she does.”
Mallory's shoulders collapsed.
“Why would she protect him?”
I looked at my twin sister.
For years, I had believed Mom would do anything for Mallory.
Now I understood the truth might be more complicated.
Maybe Mom hadn't always protected Mallory.
Maybe she had protected the version of our family that made her feel powerful.
And Grant had become part of that arrangement.
Mallory stared at her wedding ring.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Mom has a storage unit.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“She rented it after Dad died. She told me it held old furniture and family things.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“In Beaverton.”
“Do you have the address?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
I thought about Dad's missing tools.
The stolen records.
The blue box.
“Because I think your husband and our mother have been hiding more than financial problems.”
Mallory looked frightened.
Then she whispered, “There's something I haven't told you.”
I waited.
“Last week, Grant and Mom were arguing in the garage. They didn't know I was listening.”
“What did they say?”
Mallory's voice shook.
“Grant said they needed to get into your workshop before the bank discovered what he'd used as collateral.”
My blood turned cold.
“What collateral?”
May you like
Mallory looked directly at me.
“He said he'd already promised someone ownership of your father's designs.”
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