A retired detective tells her deeply personal story of learning the shocking details of her brother's alleged Ponzi scheme
What incenses me more than the fact he said it, is the fact that I thought it was appropriate commentary, a fair evaluation of my physical attributes. I was 22 years old, he was 28. The thought never dawned on me that eldest brothers shouldn’t think of their sisters in that way.
How did I know Steve and I were different? And I don’t mean different in the typical sense, like how all people are different some way or another. I mean fundamentally different — our values, our ethics, our morals, all the true substances of what makes people who they are. There were countless ways our differences clashed over the years, usually in dramatic fashion.
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In university, I was captivated by the study of psychology. Specifically, the hidden workings of the mind and the tangled motivations behind society’s outcasts and broken souls. There was something thrilling about chasing the “why” of human behaviour, like solving a puzzle no one else could see.
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In 2002, criminal psychology and profiling were only just emerging, not yet the cultural obsession they’d become. Now, every tipsy undergrad on a Friday night fancies themselves a true-crime armchair detective.
