Chapter 6 - The Telegram from ParadiseTwo days after Brandon’s confession, while federal prosecutors were busy preparing the formal indictment documents for a maximum-security federal trial, my phone chimed on the kitchen counter.
It was a text message from an unknown international number.
I picked up the screen and unlocked it. Attached was a high-resolution photograph taken under the blazing afternoon sun in Miami Beach.
My father was sitting at a shaded outdoor patio table, holding a tall, frosted cocktail garnished with a paper umbrella. My mother was lounging on a plush poolside chaise lounge, wearing oversized designer sunglasses and a bright floral sunhat, her bare feet resting comfortably on an ottoman.
Right below the photograph, my mother had typed a message:
“We heard about Brandon’s ridiculous arrest. You’ve completely lost your mind, Claire, letting the police lock up your own brother over a silly misunderstanding. We are staying in Miami through the weekend to let things cool down. Do not call us until you’ve hired a defense attorney to get your brother out of this mess. We deserve to enjoy our holiday in peace.”
I stared at the screen, reading the words twice.
Even after knowing that their golden-boy son had deliberately murdered their son-in-law and their seven-year-old granddaughter—even after hearing the federal charges and the undeniable proof of his guilt—their primary concern was still their vacation, their comfort, and their precious Brandon.
They hadn't called once to ask how I was holding up. They hadn't sent flowers for Lily’s grave. They were still sunning themselves in Miami Beach, acting as if a double homicide was nothing more than an inconvenient scheduling conflict that was ruining their relaxation.
I didn't type out an angry, emotional reply. I didn't curse them out or send a wall of text.
Instead, I opened my banking app, navigated to the automatic recurring allowance transfer that Ethan and I had funded for my parents’ retirement account every single month for the past eight years, and tapped a single red button on the screen.
Account Closed. Automatic Transfers Terminated.
Then, I opened my contacts, selected my mother’s number, and blocked it permanently.
I walked over to the kitchen sink, poured myself a glass of cold water, and looked out the window at the quiet Georgetown street. The sun was shining through the canopy of green trees, casting gentle, flickering shadows across the front lawn where Lily used to ride her pink bicycle.
May you like
They wanted peace. They wanted their sunshine. They wanted to pretend that the world owed them comfort at the expense of everyone else.
Well, they were about to find out exactly what happens when the credit card gets declined in paradise.
