Chapter 13 - The Pawn Shop
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Brooke stood in front of the bulletproof glass of a downtown pawn shop, holding her favorite Hermès Birkin bag.
"It’s an authentic Birkin," Brooke insisted, her voice shrill. "It retails for twenty-five thousand dollars. I need ten thousand for it. Now."
The pawnbroker, a bored-looking man with a loupe, inspected the stitching. He sighed, sliding the bag back under the glass partition.
"It’s a very good fake, lady," he grunted. "But it’s a fake. The stamping is shallow, and the hardware is coated brass, not palladium. I'll give you a hundred bucks for it."
Brooke’s jaw dropped. "A fake?! That’s impossible! My mother bought that for me in Paris!"
"Your mother bought you a replica," the pawnbroker said flatly. "Next."
Brooke stumbled out of the pawn shop, the fake leather bag clutching to her chest. The realization hit her like a freight train. The wealth she had flaunted for years, the superiority she wielded like a weapon—it was all an illusion built on stolen money and cheap knockoffs.
She returned to the motel room, throwing the bag against the wall.
"It’s fake!" Brooke screamed at Diane, who was watching daytime television. "The Birkin is fake! The Cartier watch is a replica! We have absolutely nothing to sell!"
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Diane didn't look up from the screen. She looked hollow, her aristocratic pride shattered. "Grant will fix it. He always fixes it."
"Grant is broke!" Brooke shrieked, pulling at her hair. "He’s sleeping in his rental car because he can't stand the smell of this room! We are going to jail, Mom!"
