I pressed the phone to my ear. “Brooke?”

“Emily, thank God,” Brooke sobbed.

Her voice was frantic, accompanied by the loud, rhythmic slapping of windshield wipers in the background.

“Where are you?” I asked, turning my back to my parents.

“I’m driving,” she said, her breath catching. “Gavin is losing his mind, Emily. He’s trying to transfer the offshore accounts tonight.”

“We know about the Cumberland estate, Brooke,” I said.

“It’s worse than that,” she said, coughing. “He’s going to pin the signature forgery on me.”

I listened to her shallow breathing over the static of the line.

“He told me if the police show up, he’s telling them I signed your name on the restaurant deed transfers,” she whispered.

“Did you?” I asked.

“No! He did it all, I swear,” she cried. “Emily, you have to help me. I can help you destroy him.”

“Why should I trust you?” I asked, remembering her betrayal.

“Because I have the emails,” she said quickly. “I have the digital trail of every forged document he sent to the bank.”

She paused, a heavy, wet sob echoing through the phone speaker.