The Brother's Pride

Arthur’s laughter was a dry, papery sound that filled the small room, more chilling than Harrison’s overt rage. I watched him preen, a man so in love with the elegance of his own theft that he had forgotten the danger of an audience. I shifted my weight, the granite counter pressing into my lower back. The signal jammer was still humming, a wall of white noise keeping the FBI in the dark.

I turned my gaze to Harrison. He was still holding the wrench, but his knuckles had loosened slightly as he watched Arthur brag. The dynamic had shifted. Harrison wasn't the star of this scene anymore; he was just the muscle in Arthur’s financial theater.

"It’s impressive, Arthur," I said, my voice steady, professional. "The tiered shell structure is standard, but the non-profit loop? That’s creative. But you didn't do the heavy lifting. You just moved the numbers."

I pivoted back to Harrison, my eyes narrowing with calculated contempt. "I used to think you were the architect of this family's ruin, Harrison. But looking at the two of you, I see it now. You’re just a messy liability that Arthur manages. You’re a blunt instrument. Clumsy. Loud."

Harrison’s head tilted, his jaw tightening. "I did what needed to be done."

"Did you?" I scoffed. "Cutting brake lines in an open driveway? That’s not a plan. That’s a desperate addict hoping for a lucky break. You didn't even check the weather. If there hadn't been that patch of black ice on the bridge, they would have just rolled to a stop and found the pliers marks. You got lucky, Harrison. You’re not a criminal mastermind. You’re just a mistake our parents were too embarrassed to admit they made."

Harrison took a step toward me, the air around him suddenly hot with a volatile, pulsating fury. "Lucky?"

"Eleanor, stop," Arthur warned, his smug expression flickering. He recognized the shift in the room, the way Harrison’s ego was beginning to override the suicide plan.

"I’ve spent my life looking at probabilities, Harrison," I continued, leaning forward into his space, ignoring the wrench. "The odds of you pulling off a premeditated murder without getting caught are astronomical. You aren't smart enough to hide the blood. You’re just lucky you have a lawyer who enjoys the challenge of cleaning up after a toddler."

Harrison snapped. 'Lucky? I calculated the fluid drip rate. I watched them crash from the tree line. I was a god, Eleanor.'