The rest of that night was strange and quiet in a way our family isn’t used to.
Paige didn’t cry at the table. She excused herself, went upstairs to her old bedroom, and closed the door. The same bedroom where she’d once hung a UVA pennant and a poster of some boy band I won’t name.
Ten minutes later Mom followed her up with a plate of food and a cup of tea, because that’s what moms do. They can’t fix everything, but they’ll make sure you eat while you work through it.
Evan pulled me into the kitchen while Meredith got the kids into their coats.
“How long did you know?” he asked.
“I didn’t. Not until tonight. I recognized his face but couldn’t place it until he cornered me on the porch and told me I wasn’t built for the big leagues.”
Evan’s jaw tightened. “He said that to you?”
“Among other things.”
He shook his head. “I should have said something earlier. The way he talked to you all night was out of line. I just didn’t want to make a scene.”
“Neither did I,” I said. “Then I realized making a scene was the only responsible option.”
Evan nodded slowly. He looked toward the dining room, where Dad was still sitting in his chair with his arms crossed, staring at the place where Graham had been.
“He was going after Mom and Dad,” Evan said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“That pension is about twenty-eight hundred a month. For the rest of Dad’s life, and Mom’s if he goes first. If he’d talked Dad into a lump sum and gotten his hands on it…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“Listen,” he said. “If Paige needs a lawyer at any point, if this guy tries to come back around, or if she’s tied up in anything financial with him, have her call me. I’ll handle it. Mom and Dad too.”
That meant more to me than he probably knew. My brother and I aren’t the type to get emotional with each other. But something shifted between us in that kitchen. It felt like he finally saw me as someone who could hold his own, not just the little brother tagging along.
Karen and I drove home mostly in silence. Somewhere around the Parham Road exit, she said, “You were incredible tonight.”
“I was terrified.”
She laughed. “You didn’t look terrified. You looked like a guy who knew exactly what he was doing.”
“I was terrified, and I knew exactly what I was doing. Both things can be true.”
She reached over and held my hand on the center console. That’s one of the things I love about Karen. She doesn’t need to give a speech. She just shows up.
The next few days were rough.
Paige didn’t talk to me. I’d expected that. Even when you’re the one telling the truth, you can still be the one someone’s angry at for telling it. She needed time, and I gave it to her.
But I didn’t sit still.
I wasn’t trying to build a case against Graham. I needed to know whether my sister, or my parents, were in any legal or financial danger.
I called Trent, a guy from my firm who’d worked the original Prescott Capital investigation with me. He’d moved over to the incident response team but still had access to the closed case files.
“You’re kidding me,” he said when I told him. “Prescott? At your parents’ Thanksgiving?”
“In a pocket square.”
“Of course he was.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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