Chapter 3 - THE MONEY BRIelle SHOULD HAVE HAD FROM BIRTH
I did not sleep that night.
At six in the morning, I called an attorney.
Not Everett’s.
Mine.
Monica Hayes, a civil attorney in Raleigh recommended by a woman whose office I used to clean.
When Monica arrived that afternoon, she did not care that Everett Langston was sitting in the room.
She looked at him and said:
“If you interrupt my client, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Everett nodded.
“I like her.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Monica replied.
I liked her too.
We reviewed the settlement.
The payment had been issued by Langston Manufacturing’s insurer eleven years earlier.
$425,000.
A portion was intended for me.
A portion placed in a protected account for Brielle after birth.
The check had been issued to Bramwell Resolution Services as settlement administrator.
From there, records became vague.
Bramwell claimed the funds had been distributed.
No bank record in my name existed.
No trust for Brielle existed.
No check ever reached me.
Monica asked:
“Did you sign a settlement?”
“I signed something after Nathan died.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
I hated admitting that.
I had been five months pregnant.
Twenty-five.
Grieving.
Nathan’s funeral had been three days earlier.
A representative came to our apartment.
He said the company would cover funeral costs and a small hardship payment.
I signed.
“How much did you receive?”
“Six thousand dollars.”
Everett’s jaw tightened.
Monica looked toward him.
“Do not start doing billionaire calculations in your head.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
She returned to me.
“Who met you?”
I tried to remember.
A man named Paul.
Maybe.
Gray suit.
Soft voice.
He told me pursuing litigation could take years.
The subcontractor was insolvent.
The main company denied fault.
I wanted enough money to bury Nathan and survive until Brielle was born.
So I accepted $6,000.
I had believed that was all there was.
Everett looked sick.
“My company authorized four hundred twenty-five thousand.”
I stared.
“Your company?”
“Technically our insurer funded most of it.”
“You signed?”
“No.”
Grant had authority.
Everett had already stepped back from day-to-day operations after Eleanor developed cancer.
Grant handled claims.
“Did you know people were getting settlements?”
“In general.”
“Did you check?”
“No.”
There it was.
Not direct guilt.
But distance.
Everett had owned the company.
He had trusted systems.
Those systems failed me.
Monica requested records.
Grant refused.
Then he called Everett.
I heard one side.
“This is not a discussion, Grant.”
Pause.
“No.”
Longer pause.
“My marriage is irrelevant.”
Then:
“If the money was paid correctly, provide the distribution records.”
Grant apparently became angry.
Everett’s expression hardened.
“Do not call my wife a gold digger.”
I froze.
Wife.
Until that moment, our marriage had mostly felt contractual.
But he said it differently.
Not romantically.
Protectively.
Then:
“No, Grant. Laurel did not discover this. I did.”
Pause.
“And that should worry you more.”
He ended the call.
I folded my arms.
“You didn’t need to defend me.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because he was wrong.”
Simple.
Three days later, Grant came to the house.
Forty-nine.
Handsome in the polished way Everett probably had been at that age.
His wife, Vanessa, remained in the car.
Grant entered already angry.
“You have no idea what she’s doing.”
Everett sighed.
“Hello to you too.”
Grant pointed at me.
“She marries you and suddenly eleven-year-old claims appear?”
Monica, thankfully, was there.
I said:
“I didn't find the claim.”
He ignored me.
“Dad, you’re seventy-four.”
Everett’s expression became cold.
“I am aware.”
“She’s thirty-six.”
“Also true.”
“What do you think people are saying?”
Everett almost laughed.
“Since when did I raise you to make decisions based on bored people’s opinions?”
Grant’s face reddened.
Then he turned to me.
“You’ve already gotten the house, healthcare, security—”
“I have gotten no ownership in this house.”
He stopped.
Our prenup kept everything separate.
I would inherit nothing automatically beyond what Everett voluntarily changed later.
I knew that.
Grant apparently did not.
Monica smiled.
“Would you like a copy?”
Grant ignored her.
Then I asked:
“Where did Nathan’s settlement go?”
“I don't know who Nathan is.”
Lie.
His eyes moved.
Tiny.
But enough.
Everett noticed.
“Nathan Cole.”
Grant’s expression changed.
“Old accident.”
“You remember.”
“I remember thousands of claims.”
“His name after eleven years?”
Silence.
Everett stepped closer.
“Where did the money go?”
Grant’s voice sharpened.
“Bramwell administered it.”
“Owned by Vanessa’s brother.”
“Yes.”
“Where are the distribution records?”
“Archived.”
“Then produce them.”
“We don’t owe Laurel anything.”
My stomach turned.
Monica immediately said:
“That is not your determination.”
Grant looked at me.
“You took a hardship settlement.”
“Six thousand.”
“You signed a release.”
“Then why did the insurer later authorize $425,000?”
His face changed again.
He had not expected me to know that sequence.
Monica leaned forward.
“That is the question.”
Grant left without answering.
That evening, Everett sat alone in the library.
I found him staring at a photograph of Grant as a child.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I sat across from him.
“This might have been Bramwell alone.”
“Yes.”
“You don't know Grant took anything.”
“No.”
“You look like you’ve already sentenced him.”
Everett shook his head.
“I’m remembering things.”
“What?”
Complaints.
Years earlier.
Families saying payments were delayed.
One widow who called Everett personally.
Grant told him she misunderstood the paperwork.
Everett believed his son.
“I didn't look.”
He whispered.
“I had Eleanor sick upstairs.”
I understood grief.
But I did not rescue him from responsibility.
“You should have.”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“I should have.”
That mattered.
Then Monica called.
She had found Bramwell’s dissolution records.
The company closed eight years ago.
Before closing, it transferred nearly $3.8 million to another entity.
Owner:
Vanessa Langston.
Grant’s wife.
Not one missing settlement.
Many.
May you like
And somewhere among that money was the childhood Brielle should have been able to afford.
---
