Chapter 4 - The Audit Notice
By Thursday morning, corporate compliance had moved faster than I anticipated.
I sat at my desk in the insurance office, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead blending with the relentless clatter of keyboards around me. My supervisor, Marcus, dropped a thick manila folder onto my partition desk with a heavy thud.
"Your hunch was spot on, Noel," Marcus said, pulling up a chair and lowering his voice. "We cross-referenced Ridgeline Outdoor Services with state disability filings. Your brother Brock has been collecting weekly indemnity benefits for a lumbar strain while simultaneously moonlighting as a framing contractor for a residential developer in the next county over."
I opened the folder, scanning the photocopied timecards and bank deposit slips bearing Brock's signature. "Is it enough for formal prosecution?"
"Fraud investigator already pulled his social media," Marcus smirked, tapping a printed screenshot of Brock hoisting a two-hundred-pound LVL beam over his head on a job site just three days prior—the exact same day he had smashed Micah's brace. "The state's attorney loves open-and-shut cases like this. Restitution, criminal charges, and total forfeiture of back-pay benefits. He's looking at felony insurance fraud."
A strange, cold satisfaction bloomed in my chest. For years, Brock had strutted around family gatherings like an untouchable king, sneering at my hard work while living off the sweat of my brow. Now, his own arrogance had handed me the rope to hang him with.
"Process the freeze and forward the file to the district attorney's office," I instructed Marcus, closing the folder. "And make sure my name isn't listed anywhere on the preliminary internal intake. I want this to hit them completely out of nowhere."
"Done," Marcus said, patting my shoulder. "Take the rest of the day off, Noel. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
I didn't go home immediately. Instead, I drove to the pediatric orthopedic clinic across town. Using my own savings—money I had finally redirected away from my parents' endless emergencies—I paid the $4,800 out of pocket for an expedited replacement of Micah's custom ankle brace. The receptionist, remembering Micah's sweet smile and timid steps, managed to push the rush order through their lab.
By 3:00 p.m., I had the brand-new brace securely boxed in my passenger seat.
When I pulled into my driveway, my mother's sedan was parked illegally right across my curb, blocking my mailbox. Vera was sitting on my front porch steps, rocking back and forth with a tissue pressed against her face.
As I stepped out of the car, she leaped up, rushing toward me with wild, frantic eyes.
"Noel! Thank God you're here!" she cried, grabbing my wrists. "You have to help us! It's an emergency!"
I gently pulled my hands free, walking past her toward the front door. "What kind of emergency, Mom? Did Hank run out of artisanal steak?"
"It's Brock!" Vera sobbed, her voice breaking into hysterical gasps. "The police—two detectives came to the house an hour ago. They arrested him right in the front yard in handcuffs! They said he's facing felony charges for workers' comp fraud!"
I inserted my key into the deadbolt, turned it, and pushed the door open. I didn't turn around.
"Well," I said calmly, stepping into the cool hallway. "Looks like lifting those heavy landscaping stones finally caught up with him."
Vera stumbled in behind me, slamming the door shut with a resounding crash. "You did this! You're the only one who knew about Ridgeline! You set him up!"
I turned to face her, my expression as hard as flint. "I didn't set him up, Mom. Brock committed a crime. He stole thousands of dollars from taxpayers and insurance policyholders while mocking a five-year-old child who can barely walk without medical assistance."
"He's your brother!" she screamed, losing whatever composure she had left. "Family covers for family! That's how we survive!"
"No," I said, stepping right up to her so she had no choice but to meet my gaze. "That's how you enabled a parasite for thirty-one years. The free ride is over, Mom. For Brock, for Hank, and for you."
May you like
Vera stared at me, her chest heaving, the realization finally settling deep into her bones that her favorite golden-boy son was facing prison time and she had no financial savior left to bail him out.
***
