Chapter 16 Brenna #3
“We saw you,” I whispered. “Last night. With Liu. We heard you talking about access codes and system architecture.”
His face paled, then he looked confused. “Liu? At Valley Ridge?” He nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I was there. But not for what you’re thinking. The access codes were for our demo environment for investor due diligence. And the system architecture is for our federal grant platform documentation.”
I felt a flicker of hope. “See? There’s an explanation.”
“It was just a meeting with a potential investor. Trevor set it up. He said Liu had deep pockets for our Series B expansion. Said he was interested in our federal contract management systems. The ten million was his proposed investment in Redpoint.”
“Liu is a known intelligence broker,” said Atticus when Luke looked from me to him.
“I had no idea. Trevor told me it was a tech investor retreat. High-net-worth individuals interested in gov-tech companies.” Luke’s gaze found mine again, pleading. “Bug, I swear on Mom’s and Dad’s lives—”
The words knocked the air from my lungs. Luke never invoked our parents lightly. Never. Not since Dad’s heart attack when we’d almost lost him, when Luke had held my hand in the hospital hallway and promised everything would be okay.
“—I am not guilty of what you’re accusing me of. Yes, I was at Valley Ridge. Yes, I met with Liu. But I thought I was pitching Redpoint to a venture capitalist. I would never—” His voice broke completely when his eyes met mine. “I would never betray you.”
The room went silent except for the distant sound of radios crackling in the hallway.
“I need you to believe me,” Luke said as the agents began moving him toward the door. “Someone is setting me up. The evidence is fake, or planted, or—I don’t know. But you have to believe me.”
“Luke, until counsel can be arranged, you shouldn’t say more,” Atticus suggested.
“Fuck, no. I’m not going to stay quiet.” My brother’s gaze returned to mine. “Brenna, please. You know me. You know who I am. You know what I’d never do.”
They were guiding him past me now. He twisted to maintain eye contact, desperation radiating from every line of his body.
“Check everything. Check the evidence again. Someone’s doing this to me.” His voice rose with desperation. “Please, Bug. Please believe me.”
I started to move toward him, but someone from the FBI stepped in front of me.
Then he was gone, agents flanking him, leading him down the hallway toward the elevator. I stood frozen, watching my brother disappear around the corner in federal custody, his pleas still echoing in the empty space he’d left behind.
“The evidence is substantial,” Admiral said quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“He didn’t do it.” The words came from someplace deeper than logic, deeper than evidence, from the part of me that had known Luke my entire life.
I turned to Atticus. “You heard him. You know Luke. Did he sound like someone who’s guilty?”
“The evidence—” Atticus began.
My voice broke. “I let the evidence override my instincts. That’s my failure. But you? Luke saved your career. He was your brother in every way that mattered. I expected you to fight harder for him.”
“I am fighting. I’m following the evidence—” Atticus said.
“That’s not fighting. That’s processing. That’s doing your job. He swore on our parents’ lives, and you just stood there.” I kept talking, even though he wasn’t responding. “The conversation we heard could have been innocent. We both know that.”
“Brenna, I don’t know what you want—”
“Say he’s innocent. Say you believe him. Say you’ll help me prove it.”
“They’re transporting Luke to DC on a federal aircraft,” said Admiral, interrupting us. “Departure is in ninety minutes from SFO.”
“I’m going with him.” I turned to Emma. “I’m DOJ. I have authorization for federal prisoner transport.”
“I’ll come too,” Emma said immediately. “Treasury liaison for the financial crimes aspect.”
Admiral nodded. “Atticus and I will fly out on K19’s plane as soon as we can file the flight plan.”
“I need to be with my brother,” I said directly to Atticus. “You need to figure out what you believe.”
“Brenna—”
“I can’t look at you right now and not see someone who gave up on Luke.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Maybe not. But it’s how I feel.” My shoulder brushed his as I passed, refusing to look at him.
“Brenna, wait—”
I kept walking. Down the hallway where they’d taken Luke. Into the elevator, where Emma caught me again as my knees buckled. Out to the federal vehicles, where they were loading Luke into a van with reinforced windows and security barriers.
The ride to the airport was silent. I sat in a different vehicle from Luke—regulations required it—but knowing he was in the convoy, in shackles, believing his own sister had been behind his arrest, was agony.
Every red light felt like an eternity. Every turn brought us closer to a reality I couldn’t accept.
The federal transport plane was utilitarian—no amenities, just functional seats and secured areas. I couldn’t see Luke once we boarded—he was in a separate section with the marshals.
Five hours. Five hours of flying across the country while my brother sat in chains and the man I’d loved was on a different plane. Doing what? Thinking what?
Me? I kept replaying the overheard conversation. “Access codes” and “system architecture” were both things that could be innocent business terms. The ten million could be a legitimate investment. We’d jumped to conclusions.
I looked at my phone as we lifted off. Atticus had sent three messages since I walked away. I deleted them all without reading. Whatever he had to say now, it was too late. When Luke had needed him most—when I had needed him most—he hadn’t fought hard enough.
Luke was innocent. I knew it the way I knew my own name. The way he’d sworn on our parents’ lives—that desperation, that certainty—that was truth. Raw, unfiltered truth.
The two of us had chosen evidence over faith initially, but I’d expected more from Atticus. He should have been Luke’s champion.
Emma drove us from Reagan National to my apartment in Foggy Bottom, navigating the familiar DC streets that now felt foreign after everything that had happened.
The doorman greeted me with his usual smile, unaware that my world had ended hours ago in a hotel hallway.
The elevator ride to the ninth floor felt endless, each floor counting up like years I’d lost.
My apartment was exactly as I’d left it a week ago—law books scattered on the coffee table from the case I’d been preparing, a dead ficus by the window I’d forgotten to have someone water.
It felt like entering a museum of my former life, when my biggest concerns had been trial prep and whether to request Atticus be assigned this investigation.
The one that had ended with my brother’s arrest.
Emma made tea while I stood at my living room window, looking out at the city lights. Somewhere in federal custody, probably at the detention center in Alexandria, Luke was being processed. Fingerprinted. Photographed. Dressed in federal detention clothes.
“You should try to sleep,” Emma said gently, setting a cup of chamomile tea on the side table.
“I can’t.” How could I sleep when Luke was in a cell? When everything I’d built with Atticus was hanging by a thread? When I’d have to face my parents tomorrow and tell them their son had been arrested for treason?
“I’ll stay in your guest room if that’s okay. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
I nodded, grateful for her presence even though nothing could make this better. Emma understood disaster—she’d worked financial crimes long enough to know how quickly a life could unravel, how one moment could destroy everything you thought you knew.
She retreated to the guest room after making sure I’d gotten into bed and drunk at least some of the tea. But sleep was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Luke’s face when he’d spotted me in that hallway. The devastation in his eyes when he’d begged me to believe him.
At midnight, I lay staring at my bedroom ceiling, my phone dark on the nightstand.
Atticus had stopped texting hours ago. The last message preview I’d seen before deleting them all had started with “Please let me explain—” but there was nothing to explain.
Actions spoke louder than words, and his actions weren’t enough.
Luke was innocent.
The evidence was wrong.
I’d failed by letting fear override my instinct. But Atticus had failed worse. How could I trust him to fight for us if he couldn’t fight harder for Luke? Maybe we’d moved too fast. Maybe we didn’t really know each other at all. I didn’t know if we could come back from this.