No More Alibis For My Brother

My best friend was about to propose to the girl of his dreams, and he wanted my help to plan it.

It was only on the day of the proposal that I realized his dream girl was Vickythe girl I had spent ten years loving in silence.

I stood there and watched them kiss. When they got married, I was the best man.

When he got busted in a vice raid, he told everyone he was taking the fall for me. When he stole and sold her family's priceless heirlooms, he claimed it was to pay off my mounting gambling debts. And finally, when he embezzled millions from the company, he framed me so perfectly that I was sentenced to fifteen years. I died a cold, miserable death in a prison cell.

But then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the exact day his affair was about to be exposed.

Every time Brandon snuck out to meet his secretary, Tiffany, he would tell Vicky that he was helping me out with some personal crisis.

This time, as my phone buzzed incessantly with Vickys incoming calls, I hesitated before finally sliding the screen to answer.

I didnt take my usual apologetic, deferential tone. I kept my voice flat, entirely detached. "What is it?"

"Wayne, are you seriously doing this again?" Vicky's voice cut through the receiver, sharp and dripping with exhaustion. "Is it another fake breakup, or did your dad crash his car this time? What's your excuse for dragging Brandon away tonight?"

I listened to the static on the line, feeling the phantom ache of my prison years settling into my joints.

"Youve made a complete wreck of your own life, so you just have to drag everyone else down into the mud with you, don't you?" she snapped. "When you got caught in that sting last year, Brandon literally took the fall to protect your reputation! Do you have any idea how much strain that put on our marriage?"

She paused, waiting for an apology that wasn't coming.

"Wayne, youre Brandon's best friend. Thats the only reason Ive turned a blind eye to the hookers and the gambling. But if you don't start showing some gratitude, if you keep harassing my husband, don't expect me to keep playing nice. I will run you out of this city. Tell Brandon to get his ass home. Now."

If it hadn't been for this phone call, I wouldn't have fully understood how thoroughly Brandon had dismantled my character over the years.

Among close friends, covering for a late night is one thing. But from the moment I learned Brandon had set me up for a fifteen-year prison sentence, we ceased to be brothers.

This time, I was only playing for myself.

I had no intention of warning him.

"You've got it wrong, Vicky," I said, my tone bordering on bored. "I have no idea where Brandon is. If you're looking for him, why don't you call Tiffany? She's his secretary. She usually keeps a tight grip on his schedule."

I hung up before she could reply.

Brandon was a parasite, surviving entirely off the wealth of Vicky's family. For an old-money dynasty like theirs, a keeping-up-appearances husband sleeping with his secretary was the one transgression that could never be swept under the rug.

Thinking about the storm heading his way, I walked into the kitchen and cracked open a cold beer, enjoying the quiet.

But Vicky's contempt for me ran deeper than I anticipated.

Ten minutes later, she showed up at my apartment. She didn't come alone; she had brought three security guards from her father's company.

They burst through my door, pinning my arms behind my back as if I were a violent fugitive. They kicked open my bedroom door, only to find the room empty. Brandon was nowhere to be seen.

"Wayne, where the hell is he?!"

Vicky looked down at me, her eyes filled with disgust. There was a time when we were childhood confidants, sharing secrets under the summer stars. Now, in her eyes, I was a degenerate, a gambler, a blight on society.

Meanwhile, Brandon had spent years painting himself as the loyal, self-sacrificing saint who kept pulling his worthless friend out of the gutter. It was a masterclass in manipulation.

I decided it was time to let her see the man she had actually married.

"I told you," I muttered, wincing as a guard tightened his grip on my wrist. "You should ask Tiffany. They're practically joined at the hip."

She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Do you honestly think these pathetic lies make me angry? I know my husband's character, Wayne. I would never believe a single word out of your mouth. I just feel incredibly sorry for him. I don't understand how he could have remained loyal to a piece of garbage like you."

She stepped closer, her designer heels clicking against my cheap linoleum floor. "Im giving you one last chance. Where is Brandon? Why isn't he answering my calls?"

Because Brandon's saintly image was so deeply ingrained in her mind, she genuinely believed I was trying to destroy her marriage out of spite. With a flick of her hand, she signaled the guards.

They threw me to the floor. A heavy boot found my ribs, and a fist caught the side of my jaw.

My head hit the floor, and my vision blurred. But through the throbbing pain, a strange, cold clarity washed over me. The physical pain was nothing compared to the fifteen years of slow death I had suffered in my previous life. If anything, the sting of the blows only fed the fire of my anger. I wanted to watch them burn.

"You're just a cockroach in the sewer, Wayne," Vicky spat, looking down at me as I spit blood onto the floor. "And the sewer is exactly where you belong."

"I told Brandon to cut you out of his life years ago. But he kept defending you. He gave you a job at the firm, he paid off your loan sharks, he lied to your parents to preserve your image as a good son! And this is how you repay him? By whispering venom behind his back? If you won't talk, I have other ways to make you behave."

She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. "You've always cared so much about your parents. What do you think will happen to your mother's weak heart when she finds out her golden boy is a degenerate?"

My parents were lifelong employees of Vicky's father. They had worked at his estate for decades, and they had always treated Vicky like their own future daughter-in-law. They kept in touch.

Vicky dialed, and she put it on speaker.

A moment later, my mothers voice came through, sounding old and tired. "Hello? Vicky, sweetheart? Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late?"

Vicky didn't hesitate. "Helen, I'm calling because we need to talk about your son."

"Oh? What's wrong with Wayne? Is there trouble at the office?"

Vicky let out a cold laugh. "Its not his job, Helen. It's his character. Last week, Wayne was arrested in a vice raid at a massage parlor. I assume he didn't tell you?"

"What? No... my Wayne? Thats impossible, Vicky. Hes not that kind of boy!"

My mother's voice began to tremble. Rage surged through me, and I tried to lung toward the phone, but the guards slammed me back down, a heavy hand crushing my mouth shut.

"Helen, Brandon saw it with his own eyes," Vicky continued smoothly. "Brandon went to the parlor to drag him out, and the police raided the place. Wayne ran like a coward, leaving Brandon to take the fall and protect his name. Surely you don't doubt Brandon's integrity?"

I stared up at Vicky, my eyes wild with hatred. You foolish, arrogant girl, I thought. You have no idea that the man you are protecting is the one who will eventually ruin your entire family.

"Its not just the hookers, Helen. Wayne is a compulsive gambler. He owes millions to loan sharks. Brandon actually had to sell some of our family's heirlooms just to keep those criminals from breaking your son's legs. He's a mess. Honestly, looking at him tonight, I wouldn't be surprised if he's on drugs too. I'm telling you this because you need to rein him in. He is going to drag my husband down with him."

She ended the call, leaving my mother's soft, weeping voice cut off in the dark.

Seeing the blood in my eyes, Vicky smiled, a look of vindication on her face.

"It turns out your parents really had no idea what a monster you've become. They still think you're the straight-A student from college."

"I honestly don't know why Brandon stays associated with you. What do you even bring to his life besides trouble? He even bought you a house, Wayne. You're nothing but a parasite."

I blinked, the pain momentarily forgotten. "What did you just say? Brandon bought me a house?"

"Oh, keep playing dumb," Vicky sneered. "He told me he bought a townhouse in your name to thank you for helping us get together years ago. He only made me promise to keep it a secret so we wouldn't hurt your fragile pride. But looking at you now, its clear you don't have any pride left."

A puzzle piece fell into place.

I knew for a fact Brandon hadn't bought me a house. But I knew he had recently purchased a townhouse in the suburbs using corporate funds. He had told Vicky it was for me, but in reality, it was the love nest he had bought for Tiffany.

And right now, they were almost certainly inside it.

I spit another mouthful of blood onto the floor and looked up at her. "I don't know anything about a house, Vicky. But your gullibility is truly impressive. Do you actually believe every single lie that comes out of his mouth?"

"I know the address, Wayne. Stop trying to squirm out of this."

I nodded slowly. "Fine. If you're so sure, take me there right now. Unless you're too scared to find out what's actually behind that door."

"You really want to play this out?" Vicky's eyes flashed with anger. "You think I don't know he bought that place with my family's money? If you want to be stubborn, I'll go there right now and evict you myself."

She pointed at the guards. "Put him in the car. We're going to clear out his things tonight. I want him to lose every single thing he took from us."

An hour later, the black SUV pulled up to a quiet, tree-lined street in an upscale suburban development.

But the real trouble was waiting on the sidewalk. As I stepped out of the car, I saw my mother standing under a streetlamp, shivering in her thin coat.

Vicky had known exactly how to hurt me. She had called my mother to meet us here, wanting to humiliate me in front of the only person whose opinion still mattered to me. She wanted to break me completely so I would never dare speak to her husband again.

Seeing my bruised face and the blood on my shirt, my mother burst into tears. She rushed over, throwing her arms around me before turning to Vicky.

"Vicky, please," she begged, her voice cracking. "I know Wayne has done terrible things. Hes made mistakes, but please, for my sake, don't do this to him. Let us go home."

"Helen, I wanted to handle this quietly," Vicky said, her tone dripping with condescending pity. "But Wayne is still lying to my face. He refuses to tell me where Brandon is, and he's even denying that Brandon bought him this house. I had to bring you here because you're the only one who can make him see sense."

My mother turned to me, her face pale with shock and disappointment. She struck my arm, her hands trembling. "Wayne! What has happened to you? How could you become like this? I raised you to be honest! How could you take a house from Brandon? If the neighbors find out, how am I supposed to show my face?"

"Helen, your parenting wasn't the problem," Vicky intervened. "But Wayne has completely lost his way. The gambling, the vice... if he continues to behave like this, I will have no choice but to involve the police."

My family had never had any dealings with the law, and the threat terrified my mother. She grabbed Vickys hand, pleading desperately. "Please, Vicky, my husband and I worked for your family for thirty years! Give him one more chance. Wayne... hes just lost. He still loves you, you know. He still keeps your photo on his nightstand!"

"Mom! Stop!" I shouted, the humiliation burning hotter than the physical pain.

Vicky looked at me, her expression turning from anger to deep disgust. It was the primal reaction of a wealthy woman realizing she was being coveted by someone she considered a servant.

I forced myself to look her dead in the eye. "Vicky, are you sure you want to make a scene here?"

"Are you threatening me? You brought this on yourself."

"No," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "I just don't think this is a big enough audience. Why don't you call our old college classmates? Call the executives from the firm. Let's make it a real show."

Vickys jaw clenched. "You think I won't?"

"I know you won't."

Driven by her own arrogance and the need to prove her dominance, Vicky pulled out her phone. In college, she had been the wealthy, untouchable campus queen, and she still held sway over our old social circle. With a few quick messages, she summoned anyone who lived within a twenty-minute drive, promising a reckoning.

Within half an hour, a small crowd of former classmates and colleagues had gathered on the sidewalk.

They looked at my bruised face with complete indifference, quickly gathering behind Vicky to listen to her recount my "crimes."

"Wayne always seemed so quiet in school. I guess you never really know someone."

"He's just a parasite. I don't understand why Brandon kept him around for so long."

"If it weren't for Brandon, he would have been fired months ago. He has no shame."

"Wayne, you're an embarrassment. Stop leeching off people who actually work for a living."

Their whispers grew louder, and Vicky's posture grew more triumphant with every insult. My mother was weeping openly now, pulling me behind her small frame, trying to shield me just as she had when I was a child.

"Please, stop saying those things," she sobbed. "My son isn't a bad person. He was a good student, he cares about us... he's not what you think..."

"Helen, of course you'd say that," a former classmate interrupted coldly. "But people change. Wayne is just bitter. He couldn't stand seeing Brandon succeed, and he couldn't stand seeing Brandon marry Vicky. This is pure jealousy."

"They're a perfect couple, Wayne. Without them, you're nothing. You're just a loser standing on a sidewalk."

"Like mother, like son," another whispered. "No wonder he turned out this way."

The crowd continued their verbal assault, and Vicky looked at me like a queen looking down at a peasant. "Well, Wayne? Are you satisfied with the turnout?"

In my past life, this level of public humiliation would have destroyed me. But tonight, I was almost giddy. The larger the crowd, the more spectacular the fall would be.

I looked at Vicky. "Not quite. Since we're all here, why don't we go up to my 'new house' and take a look? Unless, of course, Brandon didn't actually buy it for me. What if he spent your family's money on something else and used my name as a cover?"

"Wayne, you ungrateful bastard!" someone yelled from the crowd. "Brandon threw you a lifeline, and you're trying to drown him!"

"Im streaming this live," another colleague muttered, holding up a phone. "The local business community needs to see what kind of snake Wayne really is."

Vicky let out a cold, sharp laugh. "You think I don't know the unit number, Wayne? I know exactly which door it is. I only stayed away because the very thought of you makes me sick. But since you want to play the victim, let's go up. Let's see how long you can keep this act up."

I had to admire Brandon's cleverness. He had used Vicky's hatred of me to create the perfect blind spot, conducting his affair in a place Vicky knew about but would never visit.

We piled into the building's elevator in shifts.

When we finally stood in front of the door to Unit 4B, Vicky turned to me, her eyes cold. "Alright, Wayne. Stop the show. Hand over the keys."

"I don't have the keys," I said simply.

But as I spoke, I pointed to the small shoe rack next to the door. On it sat a pair of expensive men's leather loafers and a pair of delicate women's heels.

Vicky's eyes followed my finger. She froze. She recognized those loafers; she had bought them for Brandon herself last Christmas.

"Wayne..." her voice trembled slightly, her confidence wavering for the first time. "Is Brandon inside your apartment?"

I let out a soft, pitying chuckle. "Why don't you knock and find out? Or are you suddenly afraid of what's on the other side?"

"Afraid? Of what?"

Her temper flared, and she pounded heavily on the wooden door.

Almost immediately, a woman's annoyed voice drifted from inside. "Who is it? Can't you use the doorbell? Stop pounding!"

The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Standing in the entryway was a young, beautiful woman in a silk robe, her hair tousled and her makeup slightly smudged. The crowd behind us gasped in unison. They recognized her immediately.

It was Tiffany, Brandon's personal secretary.

"V-Vicky..." Tiffany stuttered, her face turning pale as she tried to pull her robe tighter around her body.

Before anyone could speak, a man's voice called out from the bedroom. "Babe, who is it?"

And then, under the gaze of a dozen colleagues and a live phone camera, my best friend Brandon walked into the hallway. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxers, his skin glistening with sweat.

When his eyes met Vicky's, the color drained completely from his face.

I leaned against the wall and smiled. The show had finally begun.