The first thing I did when I returned to the apartment was remove Dylan's photograph from my phone.
I didn't delete it. I transferred it to a secure folder and saved copies of every comment beneath it. Nora had insisted on that before I left the house. Evidence mattered now, and I had learned the hard way that memory was not enough when other people were willing to rewrite what had happened.
By nine that evening, the legal team had sent me a complete package of the documents Dylan had submitted to Mercer Freight. There were more than I had seen at the meeting. Some were harmless enough—emails introducing himself, business cards, preliminary notes—but others contained details that made my stomach tighten.
He had known far more about Northline than I had realized.
He knew which clients we were pursuing.
He knew projected construction dates.
He knew the names of two investors who had never been publicly identified.
He even knew the approximate value of one pending contract.
I called Rebecca.
“Where did he get this?”
“I don't know.”
“Could he have gotten it from you?”
“No.”
“From the office?”
“Possibly.”
Her answer was cautious.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It doesn't have to be someone at Northline,” she said. “Remember what you told me about your parents' house.”
I leaned back.
“What about it?”
“Dylan has been living there. Your old files were stored there.”
I looked toward the box containing my remaining papers.
“That could explain some of it.”
“Not all of it.”
She was right.
There were documents in Dylan's proposal that had never existed in paper form. They had been stored digitally and protected by passwords.
“Rebecca.”
“Yeah?”
“Who had access to my old laptop?”
She went quiet.
Then she said, “You know who.”
I did.
Dylan.
Before I moved my professional equipment out of the house, I had occasionally allowed him to use my older laptop when his computer malfunctioned. I had trusted him because he was my brother.
That trust now looked painfully expensive.
The next morning, Nora asked me to come to her office.
She had enlarged several pages from Dylan's submission.
“Look here.”
She pointed to a paragraph.
I read it twice.
“What am I looking at?”
“This is not public information.”
“I know.”
“Neither is this.”
She pointed to another page.
“And this.”
I looked up.
“How much did he have?”
“Enough to make a convincing presentation.”
“Could he have copied everything from my computer?”
“Possibly.”
“Would that be illegal?”
“If he accessed protected files without permission, potentially.”
I sat back.
Nora closed the folder.
“But we're not going to accuse him of something we can't prove.”
“I agree.”
“That distinction is important.”
I nodded.
The investigation into Dylan's workplace began quietly. Mercer Freight's internal security team reviewed access logs, email records, and the files Dylan had handled. I gave them permission to examine every document relevant to Northline.
I expected the process to take weeks.
Instead, something surfaced within two days.
An old login.
My former home network.
A device registered under Dylan's name.
The access occurred six months earlier.
I stared at the record.
“What was he looking at?”
The security specialist turned the screen toward me.
“Your project archive.”
My mouth went dry.
“Which project?”
“The Mercer proposal.”
I closed my eyes.
That proposal had been confidential.
Dylan had accessed it while still working at Mercer.
He had not stumbled across it.
He had gone looking.
Nora's expression hardened.
“Now we have something concrete.”
I nodded.
“What happens next?”
“That depends on what Mercer finds.”
The answer came sooner than either of us expected.
Dylan's employment was terminated.
He had not only used confidential information. He had represented himself as authorized to negotiate matters that were outside his role.
When Daniel called me, his voice was subdued.
“I wanted you to hear it directly from me.”
“I appreciate that.”
“He's been removed from the project.”
“Understood.”
“There may be additional consequences.”
“I understand.”
Daniel paused.
“Mara, I know this is personal.”
“It is.”
“But you handled yourself professionally.”
I thanked him.
After the call ended, I sat alone for several minutes.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I felt tired.
The victory I had imagined when I first learned the truth didn't exist.
There was no satisfying rush.
No moment where everything suddenly became fair.
There was only another door closing.
That afternoon, Chloe came to my apartment.
I almost didn't answer.
When I opened the door, she stood there holding the blue ceramic mug I had thought was still in one of my boxes.
“You left this.”
I looked at it.
“Where did you find it?”
“My room.”
I took it from her.
“Thank you.”
She didn't leave.
“Mara.”
I waited.
“I didn't know.”
“About what?”
“The house.”
I said nothing.
“I swear.”
“I believe you.”
She looked relieved for half a second.
Then I added, “But you knew about the post.”
Her eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
“You commented.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Because Dylan made it sound like you were finally leaving by choice.”
I stared at her.
“You believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
The honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
“Why?”
“Because I was angry with you.”
“For what?”
“For making everything about responsibility.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You always acted like you were the only person who could fix things.”
I thought about it.
“That wasn't an act.”
“I know.”
She looked at the floor.
“But it made everyone else feel useless.”
I sat down.
“So you punished me for being useful?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She didn't answer.
After a while she said, “I think we all got used to you carrying things.”
I looked at the mug in my hands.
“That isn't an excuse.”
“No.”
She sat across from me.
“I know.”
We remained quiet.
Finally, she said, “Dylan is furious.”
“He can be.”
“He says you planned all of this.”
I almost smiled.
“Of course he does.”
“He thinks you bought the house to control everyone.”
I looked at her.
“I bought it because the bank was about to take it.”
“You could have told us.”
“I could have.”
She nodded.
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I wanted one thing in my life that wasn't negotiated through guilt.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't understand.”
“I know.”
She stood.
Before leaving, she placed a folded piece of paper on the table.
“What is that?”
“Something I found in Dylan's desk.”
She walked away before I could open it.
I unfolded the paper.
It was an old handwritten list.
Names.
Amounts.
Dates.
At the top was a phrase I recognized immediately.
“Family assets.”
My name appeared beside several figures.
The house.
Northline.
A life insurance policy.
A savings account.
I read it again.
Dylan had been tracking what he believed the family might eventually receive.
The final line was underlined.
“Mara — largest obstacle.”
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then I photographed the page.
And I called Nora.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: A Handwritten List Found in Dylan’s Desk Changed the Question From Why He Wanted Me Gone to What He Had Planned to Gain
They Thought Throwing Me Out Would End Their Family Problem, Until One Public Post Exposed a Secret None of Them Knew I Had Been Keeping
Part 5 of 12
