Rick even offered screenshots of texts she’d sent him during the move, bragging about living rentree and showing Brandon how things work in the real world.
That went into folder number four.
Next, I contacted CPS again and pushed the forgery issue.
I told them I had proof the document submitted was not only falsified, but part of a larger harassment pattern.
I was calm, respectful, but firm.
And that’s when I got a name.
Detective Owens.
He was being assigned to the forgery case.
I emailed him the entire folder, every file, every photo, every discrepancy in the forged form.
Within a day, he replied.
Short and simple.
“Received. This is being escalated for formal review. We’ll update you shortly.”
Momentum.
I could feel it building.
Meanwhile, Mr. Rios hired a contractor to assess the damage.
He brought me along to walk through the apartment and confirm what had been taken or destroyed.
The contractor whistled under his breath.
“She ripped out the light sockets, too. Man, that’s spite. That’s not even theft. That’s just mean.”
We both laughed, but mine was hollow.
Still, I took pictures, measured what needed repair, saved every invoice the contractor sent Mr. Rios.
I offered to help fix it myself.
Rios declined.
“You’ve done enough. Focus on the case. I’ll handle the apartment.”
The next piece of the setup was harder.
I had to talk to my mom.
Not because I wanted closure.
I didn’t.
I just needed to hear what she knew and, more importantly, what she didn’t.
I showed up at her house unannounced.
She opened the door wearing a knitted shawl and holding a half-eaten apple.
She blinked.
“Brandon.”
“I’m not here to fight,” I said. “I just want clarity.”
She let me in with a sigh.
The house smelled like lavender and lemon polish.
Familiar in a painful way.
I sat on the couch.
She stood by the doorway like a chaperon.
“I need to know,” I said. “Did you help her forge those documents?”
Her face shifted.
Not shocked, but hurt.
Performatively hurt.
“I didn’t forge anything,” she said quietly. “She showed me a paper and said it was part of custody arrangements. I didn’t ask questions.”
I stared at her.
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“Did you see my signature?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
I believed her, but I didn’t forgive her.
“Emily’s in trouble,” I said. “This won’t end well for her.”
“She’s your sister, Brandon.”
“She’s a criminal, Mom.”
She looked down, and I realized she already knew.
Not just about the document.
About everything.
The fake charges, the vandalism, the manipulation.
She had to know.
She just didn’t want to face it.
I stood.
“I won’t let her do this again. Not to me, not to anyone.”
Mom said nothing.
She didn’t follow me to the door.
And that silence told me more than words ever could.
She’d chosen her side, which made mine easier to choose.
I cut all contact after that.
Changed my number, blocked both of them on everything.
Darren helped me set up call filters so their names would never show up again.
And I went back to work.