“Be quiet, Wayne, because your brother is the only reason this family still has prestige in West Michigan,” Brenda scolded, grabbing her leather handbag from the stool.

“Remember your place, Paige, because nobody will take your side over ours.”

Once Brenda’s car pulled out of the driveway, Wayne lingered behind in the foyer, glancing around anxiously before unzipping his canvas work jacket.

He pulled out a thick manila folder and shoved it into my hands with trembling fingers.

“Do not ever let Brandon or my mother know that I handed this over to you,” Wayne whispered urgently.

“Our father wrote this personal letter four years ago right before he passed away, warning me that Brandon had been cooking the company books for years.”