Chapter 4: My Brother's Name
For almost a minute, I could not make myself speak.
Victor Vale.
My younger brother had been the last person to leave Marianne's funeral. He had stood beside me in the rain, one hand resting on my shoulder, while the cemetery workers lowered her coffin into the ground.
“You don't have to do everything alone anymore, Dunstan,” he had told me.
“Whatever happens, you've still got me.””
I had believed him.
Victor was sixty-seven now, five years younger than me. He had spent most of his working life in commercial property, buying buildings that other people overlooked and selling them when the neighborhoods became fashionable. He was good at it, although he had never possessed the patience to build anything slowly.
When I became a corporate auditor, Victor used to joke that I had chosen the dullest profession imaginable.
“You spend your life looking for pennies that have gone missing,” he once said over Christmas dinner.
“And you spend yours finding buildings nobody wants,” I replied.
“Exactly. And I make more money doing it.””
We had laughed.
Now I stood outside the church pantry with my son, looking at Victor's name on a phone screen, while a cold wind tugged at my coat.
“Are you certain?”” I asked.
Emmett nodded.
“James sent me the company records. Victor is listed as the beneficial owner of Vale Property Holdings.””
I looked at him.
“Did your lawyers verify the identity?””
“They're checking it now.””
“Then we don't assume anything until they have.””
“Dad, the company received all the money. The transfers went into its accounts, and six months ago, the remaining balance was moved out.””
“How much did they find?””
“Two hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars from the trust. The original payments add up to that exact amount.””
I closed my eyes.
Three years of payments.
Three years of lies.
And now my brother's name.
“Call your solicitor,” I said.
“Tell him to preserve every record connected to that company. Bank statements, incorporation documents, emails, tax filings. Everything.””
Emmett stared at me.
“You sound like you're back at work.””
“I never stopped being an auditor. I merely stopped getting paid for it.””
For the first time that morning, the corner of his mouth moved.
Then he looked down at the phone again.
“I'm going to call Victor.””
“No.””
“Dad—”
“Not yet.””
“He's my uncle. He's your brother. If he has an explanation, I want to hear it.””
“And if he doesn't, you want to give him time to invent one?””
Emmett said nothing.
“Let the records speak first,” I continued.
“People become remarkably creative when they know which questions you're asking.””
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“All right.””
We walked back toward my apartment, carrying the groceries between us. Emmett insisted on taking the heavier box, though I had carried similar loads up those stairs for three years.
At the entrance, he paused.
“Dad, there's something I need to tell you.””
I waited.
“Thea says Victor only handled the property side of the trust. She says she never had access to the company's bank accounts.””
“Have you spoken to her?””
“She called me six times this morning. I didn't answer.””
“What did her messages say?””
He took out his phone and opened them.
The first was an apology.
The second was a request to talk privately.
The third said he was allowing a misunderstanding to destroy his marriage.
The fourth was more direct.
You need to stop listening to your father before he ruins everything we've built.
I read it twice.
“Interesting.””
“Interesting?”” Emmett repeated.
“She's trying to make this your fault.””
“She is trying to make you choose between us before you understand what happened.””
He stared at the screen.
“She knows I won't choose her over you.””
“That's precisely why she wants you to make the choice now.””
He looked exhausted.
“I don't know how I married someone capable of this.””
“People rarely introduce themselves by showing you the worst thing they can do.””
We climbed the stairs.
Inside my apartment, Emmett placed the groceries on the kitchen counter and opened his laptop. He worked quickly, sending instructions to his legal team while I made tea.
When he finished, he turned the screen toward me.
“This is the original trust agreement.””
I pulled a chair beside him.
The document was twenty-seven pages long. It had been drafted by a respectable law firm, reviewed by Emmett's financial advisers, and signed by all the necessary parties.
My name appeared on the first page as the sole beneficiary.
Thea's name appeared as the administrator.
Victor's company was not mentioned anywhere.
I read the document slowly.
There were provisions for medical expenses, housing, food, transportation, and emergency costs. The administrator was required to provide quarterly statements to the beneficiary.
I tapped the relevant paragraph.
“Did you ever receive these?””
“No,” Emmett said.
“Thea told me you preferred not to be bothered with financial paperwork.””
“That's not what the agreement says.””
“I know.””
“Did you ever ask to see the statements?””
He looked down.
“No.””
I continued reading.
There was another clause, one that required the beneficiary's written consent before the trust could be terminated or transferred to another entity.
I pointed to it.
“This is important.””
“Because she needed your signature?””
“Because she needed a signature that would survive scrutiny.””
Emmett leaned closer.
The document on the screen showed that the original trust had been established with an initial deposit of four hundred thousand dollars. Regular payments had been scheduled to provide for my needs over several years.
I sat back.
“Four hundred thousand?””
He nodded.
“I wanted you to have enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life. I put aside more than I thought you'd ever need.””
I stared at the figure.
For a moment, I remembered the first winter after Marianne died. I had sat alone in our old house, surrounded by furniture we had chosen together, wondering how I could continue living in rooms that seemed to hold her absence in every corner.
When I finally sold the house, I had thought I was closing one chapter and opening another.
I had never imagined that one day my son would quietly arrange the same kind of security for me, only for someone else to turn it into a weapon.
“Let's examine the transactions,” I said.
Emmett opened a spreadsheet.
The first payment had been made on the fifth of the month, three years earlier.
Eight thousand dollars.
The second payment had gone out thirty days later.
Then another.
And another.
Every payment carried the same reference code. Every payment had been authorized through the trust's administrative account and sent to a business account associated with Vale Property Holdings.
I scanned the dates.
The first transfer had occurred just nine days after Thea became administrator.
The second had happened during a week when she and Victor had attended a property conference together.
The third had occurred two days after she visited my apartment.
I leaned closer.
“Go back.””
Emmett moved the cursor.
“Which one?””
“The third payment. Open the transaction details.””
He clicked.
A small window appeared, displaying the authorization record.
The transfer had been approved using an administrator credential assigned to Thea.
I looked at the next payment.
The same credential.
And the next.
The same again.
I felt the old professional certainty settle over me.
“Your wife authorized the transfers,” I said.
Emmett swallowed.
“But the money went to Victor's company.””
“Those two things can both be true.””
He rubbed his face.
“Could she have been making legitimate property investments?””
“Not with money held in trust for a beneficiary without proper authorization. And not if the agreement expressly prohibited it.””
I pointed to the reference descriptions.
“Look at these.””
Each payment had been recorded as a property-related expense.
Maintenance.
Residential services.
Accommodation.
Medical transport.
But there were no corresponding invoices, no vendor records, and no receipts from any care facility.
I opened the spreadsheet and began grouping the transactions by date.
A pattern emerged.
The money never went to a care home.
It never went to a landlord.
It never went to a medical provider.
It went into Victor's company.
And then, in varying amounts, it moved into other accounts.
I sat very still.
“Your uncle's company is acting as a collection point,” I said.
Emmett looked at the screen.
“For what?””
“I don't know yet.””
I made a note of the dates, amounts, and destination account numbers. Then I asked him to print the documents.
He looked surprised.
“You want paper copies?””
“I want a record I can examine without worrying that somebody will edit a spreadsheet while we're looking at it.””
He sent the documents to the printer downstairs.
While we waited, my phone rang.
Victor's name appeared on the screen.
I stared at it.
Emmett stood up.
“Dad, don't answer.””
“Why?””
“Because we don't know what he knows.””
“That is precisely why I'm going to answer.””
I picked up.
“Hello, Victor.””
My brother sounded cheerful.
“Dunstan! I've been trying to reach you. How are you, old man?””
I looked at the tinned soup on my table.
“I'm managing.””
“Good, good. I was thinking we ought to get together. It's been too long.””
“Has it?””
“Of course. Family shouldn't lose touch.””
Emmett stood beside the window, listening.
I kept my voice steady.
“What would you like to discuss?””
Victor laughed.
“Nothing serious. I just heard you've been having a difficult time lately. Thea mentioned you were upset about some financial arrangements.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Thea has been discussing my finances with you?””
“Well, naturally. We're family.””
“Did she tell you about the trust?””
There was a short pause.
“Of course.””
“Did she tell you where the money went?””
Another pause.
Then Victor said, “Now, Dunstan, don't get yourself worked up over something you don't fully understand.””
I looked at Emmett.
He was watching me intently.
“Perhaps you could explain it to me.””
“That's why I want to meet. We can sit down, have a drink, and sort everything out.””
“When?””
“Tomorrow evening. My place. Seven o'clock.””
I considered refusing.
Then I remembered the trust records, the false signature, and the company that had swallowed three years of payments.
“All right,” I said.
“I'll be there.””
“Excellent. And Dunstan?””
“Yes?””
“Leave Emmett out of it for now. We don't need to turn a family misunderstanding into a public scandal.””
I ended the call without answering.
Emmett immediately came over.
“What did he say?””
“He wants me to meet him tomorrow.””
“You're not going alone.””
“I didn't say I was.””
He looked at me, then at the phone.
“Dad, do you think he knows what Thea has done?””
I glanced at the printed records lying on the counter.
“I think your uncle has known a great deal more than he has admitted.””
Then I turned over the final page.
It was a copy of the document used to close the trust.
At the bottom, beneath the forged signature bearing my name, was a witness declaration.
The witness had certified that I was present when the document was signed.
I read the name once.
Then again.
My brother's wife had not signed it.
Neither had Emmett.
The witness was Victor Vale himself.
And beside his signature was a date that made my blood run cold.
The document had been witnessed on the exact day Victor visited Marianne's grave with me to mark the anniversary of her death.
He had looked me in the eye that morning, placed flowers beside my wife's headstone, and told me that I would never have to face the world alone.
That evening, according to the paperwork, he had helped steal the money intended to keep me safe.
I placed the page on the table.
Emmett read it.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Finally, my son whispered, “How can he do this to you?””
I thought of the years I had spent believing that family loyalty was something you proved by showing up when it mattered.
Then I thought of the man who had stood beside Marianne's grave and promised that I would never be alone.
“Tomorrow,” I said, “we find out whether your uncle is a thief, a liar, or both.””
May you like
And for the first time in three years, I was no longer afraid of what the truth might cost me.
I was afraid of how much more there might be to uncover.
