“Quick minute,” she said, her eyes flickering toward the hallway.
I knew exactly where she was going. I didn’t hesitate. I stood, following her past the framed family photos lining the walls, past the bathroom signs and the soft music, until we reached a quiet corner near the coat closet. Here, the light fell a little flatter, the smiles a little less forced.
Brittany grabbed my wrist, her fingers just tight enough to communicate urgency.
“Hey,” she whispered, leaning in close. “Something’s off with the trust.”
I froze. I had always been a meticulous observer of family dynamics, but this caught me completely off guard. I didn’t blink, didn’t ask her to repeat it. My mind started working, calculating the implications of her words.
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