Page 2 of The Chad Next Door
“On vacation. He lost a good deal of money at his monthly poker tournament, so he needed a few weeks to decompress.”
This time I do roll my eyes. “Where is he, Gordon?” I know the answer, but I want him to come to a conclusion on his own.
Thwaite scoffs. “In the Cayman Islands I think? I don’t know, somewhere tropical. Why does it…” He suddenly sinks back into his chair. “Oh.”
There it is.
I give him a second to process. No one wants to find out their one surviving family member is a dirtbag, and I can’t imagine this is easy. I lucked out with my siblings; I love them all to death, and they’re good people. My dad, not so much, but he hasn’t been a part of my life in over a decade. Finding out someone I thought I could trust had screwed me over would be a hard storm to weather, so I’m not going to push Thwaite to process this any faster. He can take all the time he needs.
“You…” He swallows. “You’re really sure about this?”
I nudge a manila envelope toward him. “All the proof the police need to take him down, if he ever comes back,” I say. “He is in massive debt with that poker ring, and even the money he took from you isn’t enough to cover what he owes.”
He doesn’t even look at the envelope. “Is he in trouble?”
It’s a credit to the kind of man Thwaite is to still be worried about his brother despite the unfortunate circumstances. He could easily wash his hands of this and carry on with his life without caring what happens to Todd, but he won’t. There’s a reason he never suspected his brother, and I admire his commitment to his family.
But there’s something he needs to understand.
Sitting forward, I lace my fingers and rest them on the desk in front of me, trying to be as gentle as possible. It’s not easily done for me. “Gordon, most of that money he stole came from your clients. You haven’t been taking much of a salary the last few years as you build up your business, so how are you going to pay them back? Whether you care for your brother or not, you’re going to have to get that money back from him or you’ll be facing criminal charges yourself.”
He’s smart enough to know I’m right. But I hate that I’m right at his expense. That it seems to age him twenty years as he slouches in the comfortable armchair I keep on the other side of my desk. He lets out a weary breath that seems to take all of his strength with it.
There goes a bit of my soul.
I stand, picking up the envelope and placing it in his hands when he joins me at the door. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, which isn’t something I say often. I try to be impartial, just a man finding the facts and presenting them in the most helpful way. But I’ve lost track of the number of marriages that have ended in this room. Of the family members that have betrayed one another. I’ve lost the reasons I should be happy in a world that is increasingly awful.
Settling in my chair as soon as Thwaite is gone, hopefully to go contact the police, I let out a deep and weary sigh and turn my focus back to the one and only picture I keep on my desk. I was sixteen when I paid to have it taken, a splurge I couldn’t afford back then, but I’d been so afraid of losing my siblings that I wanted a way to keep them.
Houston and Brooklyn, twins in appearance but not personality, both look confused in the picture, probably because they’d only ever had their picture taken for school pictures. Our mom was always too in the moment to grab a camera. At eight years old, they share matching awkward smiles as they look at the camera. Houston is missing one of his front teeth, and Brooklyn’s hair looks pretty wild because I hadn’t figured out how to do it for her and she was too interested in schoolwork to do it herself.
Then there’s Micah. I had to beg her dad to let me take my half-sister for the day, and I know he was wary about letting a teenager who barely had a license drive with a kindergartener. But even if she didn’t live with us, she was one of us. She’s so much like our mom, though Micah barely knew Mom before she died. She has the same smile, even in this old picture. And though she stands out because her clothes actually fit and her dark hair is done up in a bow, she was so happy to be with us for the photo session. Micah is the happiest person I’ve ever known, and this five-year-old grin always reminds me that there is still a lot of good in the world. Especially in my family. I need that reminder more and more lately.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep giving people bad news and expecting my life to get any brighter without something to look forward to at the end of the day.
My phone is in my hand before I’ve really thought this through, dialing the number I call most.
Micah answers after two rings, like she always does. No matter where she is or what she’s doing, she always answers when I call, and I love her for it. “Chad! Hi!”
I relax, already feeling a little better because she’s the sort of person who always talks with exclamation points, even when she’s talking quietly. It’s impossible not to feel better with her around. “Hey, Half-pint. How you doing?”
She clicks her tongue. “Don’t you sound cheery? What’s got you being Mr. Grumpy Gills?”
I’ve never figured out how she does that. I’ve gotten into the habit of keeping emotion out of my voice, but Micah always sees through the mask. “Tough case,” I mutter.
“You’ll figure it out!”
I already did. Therein lies the problem.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking for a moment. This is long overdue, but I worry about staying away from my siblings for too long. It’s not like they can’t call me, right? “Hey, so, I think I need to get away for a little bit. Take a break.”
She’s quiet for a second, which is unusual for her. “Sorry, I think I heard you wrong. It sounded like you said you were going to take a break!”
I chuckle, recognizing her joke. “I know it’s unusual. I think I need some time to myself. A chance to breathe for a bit.”
“I think that’s a great idea!”
“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
