Garrett stood in the doorway in his best suit, grinning, until he saw me sitting there. Mr. Calloway had called him in for what Garrett assumed was his promotion. The grin vanished. “Elise? What are you doing here?” he stammered. Mr. Calloway calmly placed the invoices on the desk between us. “I would like you to explain these,” he said. Garrett’s face went gray, and he tried to laugh it off as a misunderstanding.

It came out in pieces. For months, Garrett had copied my files from my computer in my bedroom. He erased my name from the title blocks but forgot my stamp number, forged my signature on a consulting agreement, and sold the plans to Mr. Calloway’s company as his own. The payments went to a shell company he had opened under Dad’s address. That was why he wanted my bedroom so badly. He needed me gone before I noticed my files missing.

Mr. Calloway did not shout. He told Garrett his company had called the police an hour earlier and that two officers were waiting downstairs. Garrett turned to me and begged, saying he was family and that I could simply sign something to make it disappear. I looked at the brother who had thrown my coats beside the trash and told him I would not. Mr. Calloway then offered something unexpected. He wanted me to finish the Harbor Point clinic design, properly credited and properly paid.

Garrett was charged with fraud and forgery and lost his job that day. The bank sent my parents a notice, because the property taxes I used to pay were suddenly overdue. They called from a new number, since I had blocked the old ones, and Mom cried that they had only listened to Garrett. I told them I would help them find a smaller place, but I would never pay for their pride again. I bought a house near the river with a sunny room for Grandma Ruth’s drafting table, scratch and all. Brooke apologized last, in a letter, and I answered it.