Chapter 11 - The Brother I Thought I Knew
Eric and I had never been particularly good at discussing feelings.
Growing up, he was the restless one.
I was the responsible one.
He broke things.
I repaired the consequences.
He challenged Dad.
I followed the rules.
When our mother died, I became the practical member of the family while Eric withdrew into his workshop.
For years, I quietly believed Dad loved me more because I caused him fewer problems.
Then, after his death, I discovered how wrong I'd been.
One evening, while we were organizing the evidence in Dad's study, Eric handed me a folder.
"What's this?"
"Something I should've told you about."
Inside were invoices and correspondence from his failed engineering business.
I frowned.
"Why are we looking at these?"
"Because it didn't fail the way I told everyone."
I looked up.
Eric sat across from me.
"Five years ago, I developed a freight-monitoring component. Nothing revolutionary, but it could reduce equipment downtime."
"I remember."
"A distributor offered to finance production."
"Right."
"What I didn't tell you was that the distributor was connected to Sterling."
I stared at him.
"Julian?"
"Through a subsidiary."
Eric explained that his business had received a promising manufacturing agreement.
Then the distributor abruptly terminated it.
A second investor withdrew.
Suppliers began demanding advance payments.
Within six months, he was insolvent.
"Dad helped me settle the debts."
"I know."
Eric shook his head.
"He also investigated."
I looked toward our father's desk.
"What did he find?"
"That Sterling-affiliated companies had interfered with several of the commercial arrangements."
"Why?"
"Because Dad had asked me to help him assess some of Grandpa's original designs. Julian may have assumed I was trying to revive the patent dispute."
I felt sick.
"So he destroyed your company?"
"I can't prove Julian personally ordered it. Dad suspected he was involved."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Eric smiled sadly.
"Because you already thought I was irresponsible."
The words hurt more than I expected.
"I didn't—"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Sarah."
I lowered my eyes.
"Okay. Maybe I did."
He nodded.
"I know."
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Eric pulled another document from the folder.
It was a handwritten note from Dad.
Eric, a failed business does not make you a failed man.
My brother's eyes filled.
"He left it in my workshop."
I reached across the desk and took his hand.
"I'm sorry."
He squeezed my fingers.
"Me too."
That night, we stayed in Dad's house.
I ordered pizza.
Eric found an old bottle of soda in the refrigerator.
For a brief hour, we behaved like ordinary siblings again.
We remembered the time Dad accidentally painted the kitchen ceiling yellow.
The summer Eric drove the family lawn mower into the neighbor's fence.
The Christmas I discovered Dad had been secretly feeding a stray cat for three years.
Then Eric became serious.
"Sarah, there's something else."
I looked up.
"Please tell me it doesn't involve another offshore account."
He shook his head.
"When Dad gave me instructions to search for his military papers, he said something strange."
"What?"
"He told me not to let you go through this alone."
I stared at him.
"He knew you'd understand the financial records. But he said you might blame yourself for not noticing sooner."
My throat tightened.
"He said that?"
Eric nodded.
"He told me, 'Your sister carries responsibility like it's a punishment. Remind her that loving someone doesn't mean predicting every bad thing that happens to them.'"
I covered my face.
All week, I'd been torturing myself.
Why hadn't I noticed the accounting discrepancies?
Why hadn't I questioned Julian?
Why hadn't I asked Dad more questions before he died?
And somehow, even while preparing to leave us, Dad had anticipated that too.
Eric moved beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
I cried against his sweater.
For the first time since the hospital called, I allowed myself to cry without trying to accomplish something at the same time.
Later, we returned to the hidden compartment.
Eric removed the two black garment bags.
Behind them was an old wooden panel.
He tapped it.
A hollow sound answered.
"Sarah?"
I turned.
He pressed against one corner.
The panel shifted.
Inside was a narrow space containing a small steel case.
Across the lid, Dad had written:
SAMUEL BENNETT — ORIGINALS.
May you like
Eric looked at me.
"Guess Grandpa had more secrets too."
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