“I needed to get some things in order first,” Brody answered. “Your mother made it clear I wasn’t welcome at home.”
Trevor looked away, jaw tight.
“She said you abandoned us. That you chose the Rangers over us. Is that why you didn’t want to see me?”
“I never said that.”
Trevor’s head snapped up.
“She told us you wanted a clean break. No messy goodbyes.”
Brody kept his expression neutral despite the surge of anger.
“I see,” he said. “Are you and Mom getting divorced?”
“It seems that way.”
Trevor kicked at the ground.
“Because of Preston.”
“Partly.”
“I hate him,” Trevor muttered. “He acts like he’s doing us all this big favor. Amelia buys it, but I don’t.”
They talked for thirty minutes. Brody was careful not to disparage Melanie while still establishing that many of Trevor’s assumptions were based on lies.
When Melanie’s SUV pulled into the parking lot, Brody stood.
“I have to go. But Trevor—whatever happens between your mother and me, I’m still your father. That doesn’t change.”
As Brody walked away, Trevor called after him.
“Dad, are you just going to let him take everything?”
Brody turned, his expression unreadable.
“No, son,” he said. “I’m not.”
Later that evening, Harris Bentley delivered his preliminary findings.
“Preston Hayes is legitimate on paper,” Harris said, spreading documents across his desk. “Successful developments, clean record, respected in the community. But there are inconsistencies.”
“Such as?”
“Three former business partners who suddenly sold their shares for pennies on the dollar. A building inspector who changed career paths after approving one of Hayes’s controversial properties. And, most interestingly, a pattern of targeting wealthy married women as investors while their husbands are otherwise occupied.”
Brody leaned forward.
“Explain.”
“He courts women whose husbands are frequently absent—military, international business, politics,” Harris said. “He becomes their friend, confidant, then business adviser. Eventually, the husband is gone permanently—divorce, usually—and Hayes remains, with access to the family’s wealth through the woman.”
“And the move to Costa Rica?”
Harris’s expression darkened.
“That’s where it gets concerning. Hayes has property there, yes, but he also has connections to less savory enterprises. The area where he’s purchased land is known for being a haven for those looking to disappear from financial or legal obligations.”
“He’s planning to isolate her,” Brody concluded. “Get her away from family, friends, familiar legal systems.”
“Possibly,” Harris said. “The timeline is aggressive. Property transfer for your house is already in motion, scheduled to close in three weeks.”
Brody nodded.
“That’s why she needed the divorce finalized quickly. They’re liquidating assets before disappearing.”
“There’s one more thing,” Harris added. “The envelope you retrieved from your safe. What was in it?”
“Insurance,” Brody replied. “Something I suspected might be necessary someday.”
The envelope contained documentation of an agreement Brody had made with Melanie’s father before his death. A promise that, in exchange for Brody signing a prenuptial agreement limiting his claims to Melanie’s family money, the older man would establish a separate trust for Brody’s military earnings to protect them in case of divorce.
The agreement had been properly notarized but never filed with the main trust documents.
This piece of leverage, combined with Harris’s findings, gave Brody what he needed for the next phase.
He called Leona.
“I’m ready to make my move,” he said. “Set up a meeting with Melanie and her lawyer for tomorrow.”
“They’re demanding you unfreeze the trust immediately,” Leona warned.
“Tell them I’m prepared to discuss terms. Conference room, your office, 2 p.m.”
“And if they refuse?”
“They won’t,” Brody said confidently. “Melanie’s got a timeline to keep.”
The conference room crackled with tension. A panoramic window framed downtown Atlanta, the American flag on the courthouse visible in the distance.
Melanie sat across from Brody, her once familiar face now a mask of cold disdain. Beside her, a silver-haired attorney named Rutherford projected cultivated outrage. Leona, by contrast, appeared relaxed, almost amused, a legal panther lounging before the strike.
“This is harassment and financial abuse,” Rutherford began. “Your client has maliciously interfered with assets that are explicitly excluded from marital property.”
Leona smiled.
“My client has exercised a legitimate legal option triggered by Mrs. Harlo’s own actions,” she said. “Perhaps if she’d waited until he was actually home before changing the locks and barring him from his residence, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Melanie’s eyes narrowed.
“You weren’t supposed to be back for another week,” she said. It was the first time she’d directly addressed Brody. Her voice was tight, controlled.
“Deployment schedules change,” Brody replied evenly. “But your plans were well underway regardless, weren’t they?”
“What plans?” Rutherford interjected.
Brody slid a folder across the table.
“Property purchases in Costa Rica. School applications for my children. Airline tickets.”
Color drained from Melanie’s face as she flipped through the documents.
“How did you—”
“You’re planning to take my children out of the country without my knowledge or consent,” Brody continued. “That’s parental kidnapping.”
“It’s a vacation property,” Melanie snapped. “And you’ve been absent for most of their lives anyway.”
“Absent serving my country,” Brody corrected. “Not absent by choice.”
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