And from the darkening fury on Brad's face, he knew it too.
Brad tapped the data drive against the polished table surface, the soft click-click-click of metal against wood setting my teeth on edge. His expression shifted from defensive too smug, like he'd just remembered he was holding all the cards.
"Harris still wants you," he said, eyes flicking to me then back to Julian. "But I convinced him I could deliver something more valuable." He nudged the drive forward slightly, the sleek metal case catching the light. "Montgomery's precious research."
I fought to keep my expression neutral even as my stomach twisted. Inside that small metal rectangle was Julian's hope for walking again—years of groundbreaking research and the names of people who had risked everything to expose Harris's crimes, people who were now in danger because my brother had sold them out for a paycheck.
Julian remained calm beside me, not a single tell giving away what had to be boiling rage beneath his composed exterior. He simply steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the table as he regarded Brad with the detached interest of someone observing an insect under glass.
"And what's your price?" Julian asked, his voice level and cool, like he was inquiring about the weather rather than negotiating with the man who had betrayed both of us.
Brad named a figure so outrageous I nearly choked on my water. Millions—enough to buy a small island or fund a start-up company. The kind of money that changed not just lives but entire family legacies.
"Unless," Brad added, leaning back in his seat with a confidence I knew was paper-thin, "you'd rather I give Harris everything. The research, the names of his whistleblowers, and..." His eyes shifted to me, his smile turning ugly. "My little brother."
The casualness with which he offered me up—again—made something snap inside. All the years of swallowing my words, of making myself small, of accepting whatever scraps of attention or respect my family deigned to give me—all of it crystallized into a hard, sharp clarity.
I leaned forward, the edge of the table pressing into my stomach as I narrowed the distance between us. "You've always resented me, Brad, even when we had nothing."
His smirk faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Resented you? Please. Why would I resent the family disappointment?"
"Because despite how they treated me, I was still their favorite," I pressed, seeing the truth of it reflected in the sudden tightening of his jaw. "Mom might have used me like a bargaining chip, but at least she saw me as valuable. What were you? Just the errand boy. The one who did the dirty work."
The hit landed. I could see it in the way color flooded his face, the way his fingers curled into fists on the table. For a moment, he looked exactly like the twelve-year-old who had destroyed my science project the night before the fair—petty, jealous, and utterly transparent.
"You were always their favorite despite being nothing special!" The words exploded from him, his voice rising with raw emotion that surprised even me. "You had nothing going for you—average grades, average looks, no ambition, no skills—but they still looked at you like you hung the fucking moon!"
The outburst drew brief, curious glances from nearby diners. A waiter hovered uncertainly at the edge of my peripheral vision, clearly debating whether to intervene.
I felt Julian tense beside me, his hand finding my knee under the table—not restraining, just connecting.
"And now look at you," Brad continued, his voice dropping but losing none of its venom. "Living in penthouses while I'm still doing Dad's dirty work. Married to a fucking billionaire when you've never done a goddamn thing to deserve it."
The irony almost made me laugh. After a lifetime of being told I was worthless by my family, here was Brad—the goldenchild, the favored son—admitting he'd always thought they preferred me.
"You have one chance to do the right thing," I said, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "One chance to help us stop Harris before he hurts more people, before he discards you just like he planned to discard me."
Brad laughed bitterly, picking up his whiskey and swirling the amber liquid before taking a long swallow. "The right thing never paid our bills, Connor. Never put food on our table or kept the lights on."
"Is that what Mom told you?" I asked, genuinely curious now. "That selling me to Harris was about keeping the lights on?"
He didn't answer, but the flicker in his eyes told me everything. Mom had fed him the same lies she'd always fed us—that her schemes and manipulations were for our own good, for our survival. That the ends justified any means.
"It was never about money," I said softly. "Not really. It was about power. Control. She sold me to Harris because he offered her something more valuable than cash—connections. Influence. A seat at tables she could never access on her own."
Brad's expression shifted slightly, uncertainty creeping in at the edges. For a moment—just a moment—I glimpsed the brother I'd once known, before our mother's poison had corrupted him completely.
"It's not too late," I pressed, sensing the hairline crack in his armor. "You can help us bring Harris down. You can do one good thing to balance all the bad."
He stared at me, his face a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Then his eyes hardened, the familiar mask of contempt sliding back into place.
"Why would I help you?" he sneered, draining his glass. "So you and your crippled sugar daddy can ride off into the sunset? So you can keep living the life I deserve?"
The slur against Julian made my blood boil, but I kept my expression neutral. Getting angry would only feed Brad's belief that he had power over me. And he didn't. Not anymore.
"No," I replied evenly. "So you can finally do something our parents never taught us to do—the right thing for its own sake, not for what you can get out of it."
Brad's fingers drummed on the table, inches from the data drive containing the research that could change everything—for Julian, for Harris's victims, for all of us. The moment stretched between us, taut with possibility.
