The Parcel That Never Left

My brother Ed was clever but hated dealing with people. When he left for Spain to work as a consultant, he asked me to sell his car for him. I agreed without hesitation. I sold it within a week for nine thousand pounds. He trusted me completely. I told him I'd packed the cash in a small box and posted it to him. A week later he rang to say it hadn't arrived. I acted shocked. Sad. Even angry on his behalf. We both blamed the post. But the truth is simple. I never sent a thing. I spent his money on myself. On nights out. On distraction. On pretending it would all even out somehow. Years later, he still thinks a parcel went missing. And I still know where it really went.