Chapter 3 - THE SISTER WHO ALWAYS NEEDED HELP
Brooke had always needed something.
At least that was how Arthur described her.
When Naomi met Brooke nine years earlier, she had recently divorced her first husband and was living in a furnished rental in Darien.
She was funny then.
Charming.
Better at telling stories than anyone Naomi knew.
She could turn a canceled flight into a twenty-minute comedy routine.
Naomi liked her.
Then Arthur and Naomi married.
The requests started small.
Could Brooke stay for two weeks?
Could Naomi lend her a dress?
Could Arthur put her on their family phone plan until she reorganized?
Could they cover Lily’s summer camp because Brooke’s second divorce attorney had “temporarily frozen everything”?
There was no Lily.
Brooke had no children.
She had simply become skilled at explaining every financial problem as temporary.
Three years earlier, she opened an interior-design studio called Brooke Morrison Interiors.
The business looked successful online.
Greenwich renovations.
Sag Harbor kitchens.
West Village apartments.
Beautiful photographs.
Beautiful clothes.
Constant cash problems.
Arthur helped.
First five thousand.
Then fifteen.
Then thirty.
Naomi complained.
Arthur accused her of keeping score.
“She’s my sister.”
“And I’m your wife.”
“Exactly. So act like family.”
That sentence usually ended the discussion.
Naomi had once given Brooke ten thousand dollars herself.
She never saw it again.
She stopped asking.
Brooke stopped mentioning it.
Arthur never considered that unresolved.
The morning of the coffee, Brooke wanted Naomi’s personal debit card because, according to Arthur, her business account had been temporarily frozen after “a banking issue.”
She needed to make a same-day payment.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Naomi asked for the invoice.
Brooke laughed.
“You’re going to audit me over breakfast?”
“If you want twenty thousand dollars from me, yes.”
Arthur entered the kitchen during that sentence.
He already looked angry.
Then Naomi showed him the Harbor Ridge letter.
The color left his face.
Brooke noticed.
Naomi noticed Brooke noticing.
“Tell me why my house is in a lender file.”
Arthur sat down.
“It isn’t.”
“The address is here.”
“It’s part of a personal financial statement.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“You don’t own it.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“I live here.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
Brooke sighed.
“Jesus, Naomi.”
“Stay out of it.”
Brooke’s expression hardened.
Arthur slid the letter away.
“We’ll correct the language.”
“Why is there a $480,000 credit facility?”
He refused to answer.
Instead he said:
“Give Brooke the card.”
Naomi stared at him.
“No.”
“She needs to make a payment.”
“For what?”
“It does not matter.”
“Then definitely no.”
That was when Arthur picked up the coffee.
Sitting in Julia’s office hours later, Naomi realized the violence had accomplished something Arthur probably had not intended.
She no longer cared whether demanding answers made him angry.
Julia asked:
“Do you have access to your joint financial records?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because if Arthur told a private lender your house was potential collateral, we need to know what problem he was trying to solve.”
Naomi opened her banking app.
She already knew one place to start.
Over the previous fourteen months, Arthur had transferred more than $86,000 from their joint checking account.
May you like
Every transfer had the same memo.
BROOKE.
