Chapter 5 - The Son Lorraine Built
The envelope contained a birth certificate.
Brandon Pierce.
Mother: Lorraine Pierce.
Father: blank.
That alone wasn't shocking.
The second document was.
An adoption petition.
Never completed.
A man named Richard Vale had attempted to adopt Brandon when he was seven.
Richard Vale.
The name appeared repeatedly in Pierce Residential Holdings records.
He wasn't Brandon's father.
He was Lorraine's business partner.
Detective Blake traced him.
Vale had died twelve years earlier.
But his company had specialized in distressed-property acquisitions.
People behind on mortgages.
Divorces.
Foreclosures.
Families under financial pressure.
Lorraine had worked for him.
That was where she'd learned the business.
Except she had adapted it.
She stopped waiting for distressed owners.
She created distressed owners.
Brandon was part of the system.
His relationships gave Lorraine access to women with valuable property.
At first, I wanted to believe he had been manipulated too.
Then Blake showed me messages.
MOM: CLAIRE'S CONDO IS CLEAN. NO MORTGAGE.
BRANDON: HOW LONG AFTER WEDDING?
MOM: THREE WEEKS IF SHE COOPERATES.
BRANDON: SHE TRUSTS ME.
The message had been sent two months before our wedding.
I stared at it until the words blurred.
She trusts me.
Three words.
That was what my love had been worth to him.
A tool.
Detective Blake let me sit quietly.
Then he showed me the next message.
BRANDON: WHAT IF SHE REFUSES?
LORRAINE: THEN WE DO WHAT WE DID BEFORE.
"What did they do before?"
"We're trying to establish that."
The answer came from Sarah.
She remembered something she'd never understood.
Before losing her townhouse, she'd spent three days in the hospital after falling down Lorraine's stairs.
During those three days, documents were filed.
Documents she supposedly signed.
"They used the hospital stay," Sarah whispered.
I felt sick.
Lorraine hadn't merely pushed her in anger.
The injury had created an opportunity.
My burns.
My slap.
The rules.
Had my confrontation been designed to escalate too?
Maybe Lorraine expected me to fight back.
Maybe Brandon expected police to believe two witnesses instead of one.
Maybe they intended to establish me as unstable.
But the cameras ruined it.
Their arrogance ruined it.
And my refusal to stay silent ruined the rest.
Prosecutors added charges.
Lorraine was arrested.
Diane was charged with forgery-related offenses.
Brandon's fraud case expanded.
Pierce Residential Holdings accounts were frozen.
The women whose properties had been taken were contacted.
For the first time, Lorraine looked frightened.
I saw her at the preliminary hearing.
She wore navy blue.
Pearls.
Perfect hair.
She looked exactly like the woman who had walked into my condo and criticized my stew.
Our eyes met.
She smiled.
Even then.
I didn't.
Brandon sat several seats away from her.
He looked smaller.
Not physically.
Some people shrink when you finally see them clearly.
His attorney approached Evelyn during a recess.
Brandon wanted to speak to me.
"No," I said.
"He claims he has information about Lorraine."
"No."
"He says it could help the other women."
That stopped me.
Evelyn saw it.
"Claire, you don't owe anyone access to you."
"I know."
But Sarah had lost her home.
Melissa had lost money.
Other women had lost things I didn't yet understand.
So I agreed.
Not privately.
A prosecutor attended.
Evelyn attended.
Brandon sat across a conference-room table.
For several seconds, he simply looked at me.
Then he said, "I'm sorry."
I felt nothing.
"I loved you."
"No, you didn't."
"I did."
"You researched my property before meeting me."
His face tightened.
"That started with my mother."
"You participated."
"I was raised inside this."
"So was Sarah?"
He looked down.
"Melissa?"
Silence.
"The other women?"
"Claire—"
"You hit me."
His eyes closed.
"I know."
"Your mother smiled."
"I know."
"You tried to steal my home."
"I know."
"Then stop telling me you loved me."
He nodded.
Slowly.
For once, he didn't argue.
Then he gave prosecutors what they wanted.
Passwords.
Account numbers.
Storage locations.
Names.
Lorraine had kept records for years.
Brandon knew where.
"Why tell us now?" the prosecutor asked.
Brandon looked at me.
"Because she was never going to stop."
I almost laughed.
"That bothered you only after you got arrested?"
He didn't answer.
Before leaving, he slid a piece of paper toward the prosecutor.
One address.
A storage facility outside Chicago.
Unit 214.
Police obtained a warrant.
Inside they found boxes belonging to women.
Jewelry.
Documents.
Old phones.
Photographs.
Passports.
Items kept as leverage.
And one box labeled CLAIRE.
My box.
Inside was a copy of my passport.
Bank statements.
A spare condo key.
Photographs of me entering work.
Photographs of Naomi.
A printed copy of my daily schedule.
Then Detective Blake found a small digital recorder.
He pressed play.
Lorraine's voice filled the storage unit.
"Once Claire signs, refinance immediately."
Brandon answered.
"What if she notices?"
"She won't."
"And if she does?"
Lorraine laughed.
"By then she'll have bigger problems."
The recording ended.
Blake turned the device over.
There were twenty-seven additional audio files.
One was dated the morning of my wedding.
He pressed play.
Music sounded faintly in the background.
Then Lorraine's voice.
"Remember, Brandon. The condo is only step one."
A man's voice answered.
But it wasn't Brandon.
"What's step two?"
Lorraine replied:
"Her company."
I stopped breathing.
My company?
I didn't own a company.
I worked for one.
Unless she meant something else.
Detective Blake opened the next file.
Before he could press play, my phone vibrated.
An email from my employer.
URGENT — EXECUTIVE OWNERSHIP MEETING.
I opened it.
The first sentence made my knees weak.
Claire, we discovered documents bearing your signature authorizing a transfer of confidential development assets.
The second sentence was worse.
May you like
The recipient was Pierce Residential Holdings.
And the transaction had already been approved.
