"The right thing," he repeated, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. "As if you know anything about that."
Despite everything, I felt a flicker of pity. Brad had been shaped by the same toxic family that had tried to break me. The difference was that he'd embraced their values while I'd resisted. He'd become what they wanted while I'd fought to remain myself.
In that moment, I wasn't sure which of us had the harder path.
The soft clearing of a throat behind Brad made all three of us look up. Michael stood at the edge of our table, his presence commanding immediate attention without him saying a single word.
I hadn't seen him approach—he just materialized like some designer-suited phantom, his expression as impassive as ever. But there was something in his eyes that made Brad shift uncomfortably in his seat, a predatory focus that reminded me this man was far more than Julian's assistant.
"Mr. Matthews," Michael acknowledged Brad with a slight nod that somehow managed to convey both politeness and contempt.
Brad's eyes darted to the restaurant entrance, calculating escape routes like a cornered animal. His confidence wasevaporating by the second, replaced by the nervous energy of a man realizing he might have miscalculated.
"We're in the middle of a private conversation," Brad said, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably.
The arrival of another figure beside Michael made Brad's face drain of color. Lucas Kincaid approached our table with the casual confidence of a man who'd never questioned his place in the world. His custom suit probably cost more than my old apartment's yearly rent, and he wore it like a second skin.
"Corporate espionage carries significant prison time," Lucas commented, adjusting his expensive cuffs with elegant fingers. His voice had that practiced ease of someone comfortable with legal threats—the kind of man who could ruin your life over appetizers and still enjoy his main course. "Twenty years federal, give or take. Unless, of course, someone were to cooperate against bigger fish like Harris."
The way he delivered the information—like he was discussing the weather or wine selection—made it all the more terrifying. I watched my brother's eyes widen as he registered the threat wasn't just from Julian anymore.
Brad's gaze drifted to the restaurant entrance, and I followed it to see two men in dark suits waiting by the hostess stand, their federal badges partially visible on their belts. Not trying to hide, I realized. Wanting to be seen. Wanting Brad to see.
"This is ridiculous," Brad attempted, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. "I haven't done anything illegal."
"Breaking and entering," Julian countered smoothly. "Theft of proprietary research. Conspiracy to commit corporate espionage. Aiding and abetting human trafficking." His voice remained perfectly calm, like he was reading items off a grocery list rather than crimes that could put my brother away for decades.
Brad's hands began to tremble, sending ripples through what remained of his drink. His eyes darted between the federal agents at the door, Michael's imposing presence, and Julian's cold stare. The cockiness that had defined him my entire life was crumbling before my eyes.
"Harris will kill me," he whispered, the words barely audible as he pushed the drive across the table with shaking fingers. All pretense abandoned, my brother looked terrified—smaller somehow, diminished.
Despite everything—the betrayal, the years of torment, the fact that he'd literally sold me to a monster—I felt a momentary pang of sympathy. We'd grown up in the same toxic household, shaped by the same manipulative parents. The difference was that I'd resisted becoming what they wanted, while Brad had embraced it.
Then Julian's voice cut through my sympathy, cold and precise. "You should have thought of that before selling your own blood."
The words weren't cruel, just factual. And they were true. Whatever circumstances had shaped Brad, he'd still made choices—choices that had nearly cost me my life.
Brad seemed to shrink further into himself, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Michael stepped forward, one hand resting lightly on Brad's shoulder in a gesture that was both gentlemanly and unmistakably controlling.
"If you'll come with me, Mr. Matthews," Michael said quietly. "These gentlemen would like to ask you some questions about your association with Alex Harris."
Julian picked up the data drive, his fingers closing around it with a finality that signaled the end of negotiations. He tucked it securely inside his jacket, then reached for my hand under the table, our fingers intertwining naturally.
We watched in silence as Michael escorted Brad outside, my brother's expensive suit suddenly looking ill-fitting on his diminished frame. The federal agents flanked him immediately, one opening the back door of an unmarked car while the other kept a firm hand on Brad's elbow.
"He was always jealous of me," I murmured, more to myself than to Julian, "even when there was nothing to be jealous of."
It seemed so obvious now—the way Brad had tormented me growing up, the way he'd competed for even the smallest scraps of attention or praise. He'd had everything I hadn't—our parents' approval, opportunities, advantages—but somehow, he'd always believed I had something he didn't.
Julian's hand squeezed mine gently. "Family isn't always who you're born to."
Five simple words that encompassed everything I was beginning to understand. Family wasn't the people who had sold me to the highest bidder. It wasn't the brother who had betrayed me twice.
Family was the man beside me who had risked everything to protect me when he barely knew me. Family was the circle of people—Michael, Jake, Kyue, even Lucas—who had rallied around us, offering protection and support without question.
"No," I agreed, turning to face Julian as Brad disappeared into the federal car. "It's who you choose. And who chooses you back."
His expression softened slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that almost-smile I was coming to cherish. He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my forehead in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache.
