Chapter 7
I sat at Samuel's office staring at the account statements.
My father had created a savings account for both Tasha and me.
He had deposited money whenever he could.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger deposits after receiving a promotion.
He had written both our names on the account paperwork.
Nia and Tasha Williams.
For our education and future security.
I pressed my fingers against the page.
My father had died when I was six.
Tasha had been three.
I barely remembered his voice.
But now I was looking at evidence of how carefully he had planned for us.
I swallowed.
"How much did he save?"
Samuel looked at the records.
"Approximately ninety thousand dollars before his death."
Tasha covered her mouth.
"Ninety thousand?"
Samuel nodded.
"Some funds remained invested and increased in value. But a large portion was withdrawn under Diane's authority several years later."
I felt sick.
"Did she use it for us?"
Samuel hesitated.
"The records suggest some legitimate family expenses, but many transactions require further examination."
I stared at the statements.
Private travel.
Luxury purchases.
Transfers to unrelated accounts.
The same pattern.
Again.
Tasha began crying.
"She always told us Dad left nothing."
I reached for her hand.
"She lied to both of us."
Samuel looked saddened.
"Your grandfather discovered part of this history while reviewing the family's records. He tried to reconstruct what happened."
I looked at him.
"Why didn't he tell us?"
"He believed the information was painful and wanted to confirm the details before making accusations."
I nodded slowly.
I understood his caution.
But part of me wished he had told me sooner.
I had spent most of my life believing my father had failed us.
Now I knew he had tried to give us security.
And my mother had used his absence to rewrite the story.
Tasha wiped her cheeks.
"I want to know everything about Dad."
I looked at her.
"Me too."
Samuel smiled sadly.
"Your grandfather preserved several letters Robert wrote before his death."
My heart jumped.
"Letters?"
He nodded.
"Some were written for special occasions. Others were simply notes about his hopes for you."
I began crying.
Samuel handed me a folder.
Inside were handwritten letters.
Birthday wishes.
Advice.
Stories.
My father's handwriting filled the pages.
I opened the first.
My beautiful Nia,
You asked me today why stars shine.
I told you I didn't know every answer, but I promised we could learn together.
I hope you never stop asking questions.
My tears fell onto the paper.
I remembered that conversation.
Barely.
A summer evening.
My father carrying me into the backyard.
His hand pointing toward the sky.
I had forgotten the words.
But he had remembered them.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
Tasha opened another.
My little Tasha,
Today you laughed when I pretended the kitchen spoon was a microphone.
You are the happiest part of my morning.
I hope you always know how much joy you bring into the world.
Tasha began sobbing.
"He loved me."
I wrapped my arms around her.
"Of course he did."
We sat together for a long time.
Two daughters who had spent years hearing distorted stories about their father.
Finally learning who he had been.
Then Samuel opened another folder.
"There's one final matter your grandfather wanted resolved."
I looked up.
"What?"
"He believed Diane's misuse of funds should be investigated, but he also wanted both of you to have the opportunity to understand the truth without being forced into conflict."
I nodded.
"He didn't want us fighting."
"Exactly."
Samuel looked at Tasha.
"Your grandfather specifically instructed that Nia's inheritance not be used to compensate for funds you may have been denied."
Tasha stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because he believed the responsibility belonged to the person who handled the money."
My chest tightened.
Grandpa had understood something my mother never did.
Justice didn't mean taking from one daughter to repair harm done to the other.
It meant holding the person responsible accountable.
I looked at Tasha.
She was crying again.
But this time, she smiled.
"Grandpa really did love both of us."
I squeezed her hand.
"Yes."
The investigation continued over the following weeks.
Financial records were reviewed.
The disputed signatures were examined.
Victor's communications were preserved.
And Diane's account activity was compared against the stated purposes of the transfers.
I tried to focus on my wedding plans.
But every time I selected flowers or tasted wedding cakes, I remembered my mother's hand striking my face.
Marcus noticed.
One evening, he found me staring at our wedding invitation.
"What's wrong?"
I looked at him.
"I don't know whether I want Mom there."
He sat beside me.
"You don't have to decide tonight."
I swallowed.
"But she's my mother."
Marcus nodded.
"That doesn't mean she has unlimited access to hurt you."
I looked away.
"I always imagined her helping me get ready."
He took my hand.
"Then grieve the version of that day you wanted. You don't have to pretend you never wanted it."
His words made me cry.
I had spent years telling myself I didn't care about my mother's approval.
But I did.
I had wanted her to look at me in my wedding dress and smile.
I had wanted her to say she was proud.
I had wanted one day when she treated me like her beloved daughter instead of a financial resource.
Marcus held me.
"We can make our wedding beautiful without sacrificing your peace."
I nodded.
Then my phone rang.
Tasha.
I answered.
"Nia, Mom came to my apartment."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
"She screamed at me for cooperating with the investigation."
"Are you safe?"
"Yes. She left."
I closed my eyes.
Then Tasha whispered, "She said something strange."
"What?"
"She told me that if Grandpa's records came out, everyone would know what she did after Dad died."
My heart raced.
"What did she mean?"
Tasha swallowed.
May you like
"I don't know."
Then she added, "But she said she would rather lose everything than let us see the rest of those records."
