“Six of these payments occurred during summer.”
I looked at another entry.
“And August.”
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“Donnie doesn’t remove snow in August.”
Dina leaned back.
“No, he doesn’t.”
She explained that the financial records also showed a pattern of withdrawals from Savage Lawn and Snow shortly after the deposits arrived.
Approximately eighty-five percent of the transferred money was withdrawn in cash.
The records didn’t yet establish where the cash went.
But the pattern raised serious questions about whether the payments represented actual services.
I shook my head.
“There has to be an explanation.”
“Perhaps. That’s why we need more documents.”
I looked toward the spreadsheet.
“Donnie and Tommy have known each other forever.”
Dina nodded.
“I understand.”
“Donnie wouldn’t help him hide money from me.”
My attorney didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said, “Tracy, I hope there’s an innocent explanation. But we can’t decide that before reviewing the evidence.”
She was right.
I knew she was right.
Still, I felt sick.
The divorce had already taken away the future I’d imagined.
Now I was afraid it might take away the brother I’d trusted since childhood.
Dina prepared a subpoena for Donnie’s business records and testimony.
The requested documents included invoices, service agreements, job schedules, deposit records, and information supporting the fourteen payments.
A copy of the payment schedule was attached.
It was listed on page three.
When the subpoena was delivered, I wanted to call Donnie immediately.
I wanted to ask what happened.
I wanted him to tell me there was some ordinary explanation involving landscaping, equipment rental, or subcontracting.
Dina advised me not to contact him about the evidence before the scheduled testimony.
“We need his independent account,” she said. “Not a version assembled after conversations with Tommy.”
I nodded.
Then went home and sat in my kitchen for almost an hour.
A few days later, Donnie called.
“Hey, Trace.”
I closed my eyes.
“Hi.”
“Karina’s planning Christmas dinner. You coming?”
I stared at the refrigerator.
“Yes.”
“Good. Benton keeps asking whether you’re bringing those crispy potatoes.”
I smiled sadly.
“I’ll bring them.”
“Great.”
He hesitated.
Then added, “You doing okay?”
For one moment, I wanted to tell him everything.
Instead, I said, “I’m managing.”
He was quiet.
Then he told me he’d see me at Christmas.
After the call, I sat with the phone in my hand.
My brother had sounded almost normal.
But there was something beneath his voice.
A tightness.
An unfamiliar uncertainty.
Two nights before Christmas, I drove past the office Donnie used for his landscaping company.
His black Silverado sat near the entrance.
Beside it was Tommy’s white work truck.
The office lights were on.
For several seconds, I considered pulling into the lot.
Then I remembered Dina’s advice.
I kept driving.
On Christmas morning, I made my crispy potatoes.
I peeled them slowly, tossed them with oil and rosemary, and arranged them in the same blue baking dish Mom used to bring to family dinners.
The familiar routine steadied me.
Then I drove to Donnie and Karina’s house in Elkhorn.
Their porch was decorated with white lights.
A wreath hung on the front door.
Benton’s little red sled rested beside the garage.
When I walked in, he ran toward me.
“Aunt Tracy!”
I set down the casserole dish and hugged him.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
He smiled.
“Did you bring the potatoes?”
“Of course.”
He looked delighted.
That was how the evening began.
Ordinary.
Warm.
Almost peaceful.
Karina had made ham, rolls, green beans, and two kinds of pie.
Aunt Linda brought cranberry salad.
Christy arrived wearing a red sweater and carrying a bottle of sparkling cider.
Donnie greeted everyone.
He seemed tired.
He also seemed determined to keep the conversation moving.
During dinner, he asked about Benton’s schoolwork and his new interest in reading.
He talked about the weather.
About a customer who wanted a large landscaping project finished before spring.
About anything except my divorce.
I appreciated the effort.
Then Christy went into Donnie’s home office to look for the Wi-Fi password.
She came back carrying the stapled packet.
“I found Tracy’s legal paperwork.”
I looked up.
My stomach tightened.
“Christy, that’s private.”
She waved the papers.
“Oh, relax. We’re family.”
Donnie looked sharply toward her.
“Put that back.”
But she had already started reading.
She thought the legal language was funny.
She thought my divorce was funny.
And she thought everyone would enjoy hearing how badly my marriage had ended.
So she read.
And joked.
And laughed.
Until Benton pointed toward page three.
“Daddy, why is your company’s name on this?”
Karina took the document.
She read the payment schedule carefully.
Then looked toward her husband.
“Donnie, what’s this?”
He stared at the tablecloth.
For several seconds, he didn’t answer.
Finally, he said, “It’s business.”
Karina looked at the dates.
“Snow removal in July?”
He cleared his throat.
“Commercial service agreements can cover different kinds of work.”
She pointed to the descriptions.
“Then why do these all say snow removal?”
He looked toward me.
For the first time that evening, I saw genuine fear in my brother’s expression.
Not fear of me.