“Understood. I will handle it.”

I switched back to the Miami line.

“Tyler,” I said.

“Danny, please,” Tyler said, his voice now noticeably trembling. “You have to tell them this was a misunderstanding. You have to tell the police we’re brothers and we had an agreement. If they charge me, I’ll lose my license. I’ll lose everything.”

“We didn’t have an agreement,” I said. “You stole a title document from my private papers when you visited my apartment last Thanksgiving, didn’t you?”

Silence was his only answer.

“You took an old, un-updated paper deed from a filing cabinet, assumed it was the only record that existed, and didn’t bother to check county records because you were too confident I wouldn’t notice,” I continued. “You didn’t care about helping me. You needed quick cash, and you thought I was too weak to stop you.”

“Danny, please—”

“I am having my legal representative arrive shortly,” I said, cutting him off. “Cooperate with the police. Hand over every cent of the deposit money you received. Do not say another word until the attorney arrives.”

“Is he… is he going to get me out of this?” Tyler pleaded.

“He is going to protect the company,” I corrected him quietly. “And he is going to make sure the truth is documented.”

I disconnected the call before he could respond.

For a long moment, the office was entirely still. I stood up, walked to my desk, and picked up my personal phone. I opened the group chat with my family.

My mother had sent another message while I was on the line: Tyler says you’re making a scene down there. Stop being so sensitive over an old plot of dirt, Daniel. He’s your brother.

I didn’t type a long response. I didn’t raise my voice in text, nor did I vent years of frustration.