Page 95 of Synced to Us

“Jesus Christ, Brad,” Lucy hisses. Only now have I noticed she’s come up on my other side. “Why must you be so disgusting in front of the children? Or ever?”

“I’m not the bad guy here!” Brad clutches his chest. “She is!”

“Dee has done more for her clients and for me than you’ve done for this family,” Wyn grits out. “And I’ve decided to put her in charge of Ma’s accounts.”

I stiffen in surprise.

“With your permission, of course,” Wyn says to Ma. Her eyes are darting everywhere. “But with what I have to say, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

Brad peels his lips from his teeth. “You’re such a pussy.”

“Over one hundred thousand dollars is missing from your account,” I say to May, including Lucy as well. “Funds that were meant to go to repairing your house and helping you during a dry spell. Money meant to go to the twins’ college funds, to May’s rehabilitation, and any retirement accounts.”

The acrid smell of burning meat hits my nostrils. Brad furiously whirls, tossing the burgers off the grill and to the ground where they fall apart, steam leaking from the broken patties.

“That’s not me,” Brad says. “I’m not in charge of whatever company that money was going to. Ask Wyn, since you’re so smart. It’s his cashflow.”

“I don’t ask people. That involves too much emotion. Data never lies. I was up all night following the trail because data always leaves breadcrumbs. Especially by amateurs. I found the registered agent to Aspen Landings. I called him and found out who the owner of the company was. Micheal Rothlessberger.”

May hisses in a breath. “My husband?”

“Someone established a company in your dead husband’s name, yes. Enough digging revealed you, Brad, as the spearhead of that great idea. So, would you like me to tell them all where that money went, or would you rather I do it?”

Brad’s fair complexion blooms turns mottled red. The spatula shakes in his hand. He looks like he wants to stab me with it.

I can’t resist adding, “Because you know I know where it is.”

“Tell us,” Wyn says. I’ve never heard him sound more dangerous. “Explain where the money is.”

“You said we didn’t have enough money for daycare,” Lucy says to her husband in an emotional whisper. “That I’d have to stay here with them and not look for a job.”

“That’s—you always wanted to be with the kids, honey. You hated your job.”

“You took away my freedom to choose!” Lucy cries.

“Bradford, this can’t be true. This house is falling apart around me, and you’ve been telling me the money’s had to go to keeping you and Lucy upright. To making sure the kids were fed.”

“Wow,” Wyn drawls. “Using the my-kids-are-starving guilt trip on our impressionable mother, huh? Nice one.”

“Take a look at yourself, bro! It’s your cash! Why weren’t you watching it?”

“Because I thought I left it in the capable hands of my older brother, who always told me he was responsible. Who had a family to take care of, and lived in the same town as Ma. Why shouldn’t he be in charge of her care? I was touring, constantly out of the country. I needed your help, man, and you blew it up in all our faces. Why? Tell me why before I make you.”

Brad loses more ground. He looks to his wife for help, but Lucy’s crossed her arms, her lips trembling as she waits for his explanation, too.

“Fine. Fine! I’m saving up for a new house for me and Luce, okay?”

“Brad,” I warn.

“What does Dee mean?” May grabs onto her son’s arm. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Brad clenches his jaw. He raises his head and casts his gaze down his nose at me, but his lips are sealed.

“I didn’t want to be the one to do this,” I tell him honestly. Then search for Wyn’s hand. “But you’ve been siphoning funds to an apartment in Manhattan, one in the name of Jessica Mallard.”

“Jess…who’s Jessica?” Lucy’s gaze ping-pongs between me and Brad.

“Do you want me to continue?” I ask Brad.

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