Chapter 3: Connecting with Brenda

The North Hollywood diner smelled of stale coffee and fryer grease. A single flickering fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting a dingy glow on the plastic booths. It was far from the glittering industry events I was used to, a deliberate choice Brenda had made.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I said, sliding into the booth across from her. Brenda Hollings looked different than I remembered. The sharp, business-like edges were softened by time and, perhaps, something else. Guilt.

She just nodded, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Donald called me, you know. Screaming. Demanding to know what we were talking about.”

“We haven’t talked yet,” I pointed out, gesturing to the untouched menus.

Brenda gave a humorless laugh. “He doesn’t care about facts. He just cares about control. Always has. He always thought he was the smartest man in the room, the one who pulled all the strings.”

I watched her, waiting. The diner hummed with quiet conversation, the clatter of plates. A waitress wiped down the counter with a practiced, slow rhythm.

“I need to know what you know, Brenda,” I finally said. “About his business. About my trust fund.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly on the table. “You know, for years, I tried to convince myself it wasn’t my problem. That it was just how Donald did business. But I saw things. I saw how he operated.”

A heavy sigh escaped her. “It started with small things. Inflated expenses, double-dipping on commissions. Then it got bigger.”

“The trust fund?” I pressed, trying to keep my voice even.

Brenda finally met my eyes, a raw honesty there. “He always talked about ‘diversifying your assets,’ ‘smart investments.’ It was all a front. He was in deep with some shady characters, owed a lot of money. More than anyone knew.”

The confession hung in the air. The waitress approached, but Brenda waved her off, not even looking up.

“He siphoned it, Maya,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the diner’s din. “Bit by bit. He thought no one would ever notice. Especially not a kid.”

A cold knot formed in my stomach. It was one thing to suspect, another to hear it confirmed, especially from someone who had been inside his world.

“I tried to warn him, early on, about legal ramifications,” Brenda continued, twisting a napkin. “He just laughed. Said I was soft. Said I didn’t understand how the industry *really* worked.”

“Do you have proof?” I asked, my voice tight. “Anything concrete?”

Brenda hesitated, then nodded slowly. “When we split, I kept copies of everything. Not because I thought I’d need it for this, just… for leverage. For my own protection, if he ever tried to turn things around on me.”

“What kind of copies?”

“Old encrypted hard drives. From his management firm’s servers, from my personal devices when I was still his partner,” she explained, a flicker of resolve hardening her gaze. “I have archived phone backups from my old work phone, too. The ones he thought he’d scrubbed clean.”

She pushed a small, worn leather case across the table. “They’re ancient, some of these. From before you were even a teenager. But they’re all there. Every transaction, every email, every… conversation.”

My fingers brushed the cool leather. This wasn’t just testimony; this was a digital trail, a potential lifeline.

“He tried to get them from me during the divorce,” Brenda added, a defiant glint in her eyes. “Threatened me, said I’d regret it. But I held on. I guess some part of me hoped this day would come.”

“This could change everything,” I breathed, feeling the weight of the case. “Thank you, Brenda. Thank you.”

She just nodded again, a look of weary relief washing over her face. “It’s been a long time coming. Maybe now I can finally sleep.”