Chapter 2 - THE FILE WITH MY NAME
Ethan called again twenty-three minutes later.
This time, he didn't say hello.
“Jake, you need to come here.”
“Why?”
“I found something.”
I heard my mother's voice in the background.
“Ethan, put that down!”
Then my father's voice.
“That's private.”
My brother sounded shaken.
“It's about you.”
I drove over.
When I arrived, the front door was unlocked.
My mother was standing in the hallway with her arms folded.
My father sat behind the dining table.
Ethan stood beside a metal filing cabinet.
On the table was the folder.
My name was written across it in black marker.
“What is that?” I asked.
Mom immediately stepped forward.
“Nothing.”
Ethan held up his hand.
“No. We are done calling everything nothing.”
He opened the folder.
Inside were copies of my tax returns.
Property records.
Bank statements.
Screenshots of my investment accounts.
Even photographs of the house Leah and I owned.
I stared at my mother.
“Why do you have this?”
She looked away.
“Your father was worried about you.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
Ethan pulled out another document.
“This one does.”
It was a handwritten note.
The date was five years old.
At the top, someone had written:
If Jacob stops paying, activate Plan B.
My stomach tightened.
“What is Plan B?”
Nobody answered.
Ethan turned another page.
There were calculations.
My parents' monthly expenses.
My estimated income.
My assets.
And beside them, a projected figure.
$612,000.
I looked at my father.
“What is this?”
He finally spoke.
“Your mother thought you would eventually inherit everything.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with my bills?”
My mother suddenly snapped.
“Everything!”
The room went silent.
She pointed at me.
“You were always going to get more.”
“More of what?”
“Our parents' estate.”
I stared at her.
My grandparents had died years ago.
“What estate?”
She looked at my father.
He closed his eyes.
Ethan whispered, “Mom… what did Grandpa leave?”
My mother didn't answer.
My father finally said it.
“Your grandfather created a trust.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“What kind of trust?”
“One that benefits both of you.”
“That doesn't explain the $612,000.”
My father swallowed.
“Your grandfather believed Ethan would need more financial support.”
Ethan stared at him.
“And Jake?”
My father looked at me.
“He believed Jake would be responsible enough to manage the assets.”
My mother immediately interrupted.
“That was supposed to change.”
“Why?”
“Because you became successful.”
I almost laughed.
“So because I worked hard, you decided I deserved less?”
“No.”
She looked angry now.
“Because Ethan has always needed more.”
Ethan stepped backward.
“That's what you've been telling me my whole life.”
My mother stared at him.
Then Ethan picked up another document.
His face changed.
“Mom…”
“What?”
“This isn't a trust document.”
He handed it to me.
It was a loan agreement.
My parents had borrowed money against the family trust.
And the borrower listed on the document wasn't them.
It was Ethan.
Except Ethan had never signed it.
His signature was clearly forged.
My brother looked at me.
“Jake…”
I looked at my parents.
“Who forged Ethan's signature?”
Nobody spoke.
Then my father quietly said:
May you like
“Your mother did.”
The room exploded.
