Then one evening he called from a number I did not recognize.
I almost ignored it.
“Audrey,” he said when I answered.
I sat down on the edge of my bed.
“What do you want?”
He was quiet for several seconds.
“To tell the truth before somebody makes me.”
The sentence was so unlike him that I said nothing.
“I knew about the education account,” he said. “Not at first. Dad told me they were investing family money in my company. I believed him because I wanted to. Later I saw your name on a transfer. Mom said you had agreed to help and did not want anyone talking about it.”
“And you believed that too?”
His breathing changed.
“No.”
There it was.
Not innocence. Not full knowledge. Cowardice.
“When did you know?”
“Sophomore year. Maybe before. I saw a loan notice at the house with your name on it. I asked Dad. He told me to stay out of adult finances. Then he paid a vendor for me the next week.”
My hands went cold.
“You let them tell everyone I dropped out.”
“Yes.”
“You let Mom call me lazy at Christmas.”
“Yes.”
“You posted pictures of that car while I was working at five in the morning.”
He made a sound that might have been a sob.
“Yes.”
I wanted to hurt him with words. I had earned the right to. Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“Why?”
“Because being the favorite was easier than being your brother.”
I closed my eyes.
That answer stayed with me.
Julian agreed to give a formal statement. He turned over account records from his failed company and sold the car he had been leasing. He did not become a hero by doing what he should have done years earlier. But his cooperation mattered.
