Chapter 3
I had never seen my father look so confused.
"The other half of what?" he demanded.
Jasmine rested one hand against the staircase railing.
"Your daughter's little inheritance."
Daniel stepped closer.
"What exactly are you claiming?"
Jasmine shrugged.
"Ask her father. He was responsible for the account long before I came along."
My father's face darkened.
"Don't you dare."
She raised her eyebrows.
"Don't I dare what? Tell the truth?"
I looked between them.
"Dad, what is she talking about?"
He turned toward me.
"Maya, your mother left you a trust. I told you about it when you started college."
"You said it covered my tuition."
"It does. It also holds money intended for your future."
"How much?"
He hesitated.
I felt my chest tighten.
"Dad. How much money?"
He looked at Daniel.
Then back at me.
"Your mother funded it with approximately four hundred thousand dollars from her life insurance and savings. It was meant to support your education and help you start your adult life."
I nearly lost my balance.
Four hundred thousand dollars.
My mother had left me that much?
All these years, I'd worked part-time at a grocery store to pay for textbooks.
I'd skipped meals to save money.
I'd worn the same winter coat for five years.
Whenever I asked Jasmine whether my college fund could help with expenses, she told me there wasn't much left.
And now Dad was telling me there had once been enough money to change my entire future.
"Where is it?" I whispered.
Dad looked devastated.
"I thought most of it was still invested."
Jasmine laughed from the stairs.
"Oh, Marcus. That's embarrassing."
Daniel turned toward her.
"Did you have access to the account?"
Jasmine narrowed her eyes.
"I helped manage household finances."
"That wasn't my question."
"I don't have to answer your questions."
She disappeared upstairs.
Moments later, we heard a door slam.
I looked at Dad.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He reached toward me.
"Maya—"
I stepped back.
"Why didn't you tell me how much Mom left?"
He looked wounded.
"I wanted you to focus on your education, not the money."
"But it was mine."
"I know."
"You let Jasmine handle it?"
His silence answered me.
My eyes filled.
"You knew how she treated me."
Dad lowered his head.
"I knew you didn't get along."
"No, Dad. You didn't know."
My voice started shaking.
"You didn't know she checked my grocery receipts. You didn't know she made me ask before taking food from the refrigerator. You didn't know she told me I was lucky she allowed me to live here."
He looked horrified.
"She did what?"
I started crying.
"And every time I wanted to tell you, she said you'd think I was trying to destroy your marriage."
Dad took a step toward me.
"Maya, why didn't you come to me?"
"Because I was scared you'd believe her."
That was the moment his expression broke.
He sank onto the couch.
For the first time in my life, my father looked helpless.
Daniel waited until I stopped crying.
Then he asked for the bank and trust records.
Dad went into his office to retrieve them.
I followed.
His office had always smelled like coffee and old books.
A framed photograph of Mom sat beside his computer.
She was standing in front of the hospital where she worked as a nurse.
Her bright smile looked almost alive.
I picked up the photograph.
"Did she really leave all that for me?"
Dad nodded.
"She loved you more than anything."
"Then why did you let Jasmine control it?"
He closed his eyes.
"Because I trusted my wife."
I put the picture down.
"And what about me?"
He looked at me.
"I trusted you too."
"No. You trusted me to stay quiet."
The words hurt him.
I could see it.
But I couldn't take them back.
Because they were true.
Daniel spent the next two hours examining the documents Dad could find.
Most were old statements.
Several pages were missing.
The account had once been managed by a respected financial institution.
But eighteen months earlier, paperwork had been submitted requesting administrative changes.
A new financial representative was listed.
Her name was Jasmine Carter.
Dad stared at the document.
"I never authorized that."
Daniel frowned.
"Your signature appears here."
Dad took the page.
"That's not my signature."
My heart began pounding.
Daniel examined it more closely.
"We need the original records before drawing conclusions."
He kept reading.
Then he reached another page.
"This is a transaction authorization involving Maya."
I leaned over his shoulder.
There it was.
My signature.
At least, something that looked like it.
But the date was from last year.
I remembered signing the supposed scholarship form around that time.
Daniel tapped the page.
"This appears to authorize changes to trust distributions. Whether it was valid depends on the trust terms and what Maya was told."
Dad looked furious.
"Jasmine tricked her."
Daniel raised one hand.
"We need evidence."
My phone suddenly rang.
The caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A woman spoke.
"Is this Maya Carter?"
"Yes."
"My name is Rebecca Ellis. I'm calling from First Heritage Trust Services. We've been trying to contact you."
I looked at Daniel.
He motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
Rebecca continued.
"We received a request today to close an account associated with your name. Before processing it, we need to verify your instructions."
My blood ran cold.
"I didn't request that."
There was a pause.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"The request was submitted by someone identifying herself as your authorized representative."
Daniel leaned forward.
"This is attorney Daniel Brooks. Maya is here with her father. Can you tell us whether the request has been completed?"
Rebecca explained she couldn't discuss confidential account details without verification.
But she could confirm the closure request had not yet been processed.
Daniel asked for the proper procedure to place a security restriction on the account.
Rebecca explained the steps.
I followed them immediately.
When the call ended, Daniel turned toward us.
"We have to act quickly."
Dad looked at me.
"I'll fix this."
I wanted to believe him.
But the damage wasn't just financial.
It was years of being treated like a stranger.
Years of humiliation.
Years of believing I wasn't important enough to protect.
I went upstairs without speaking.
My suitcase still lay open on the bed.
I slowly began putting my clothes away.
Then I noticed something.
The bottom drawer of my dresser was open.
I distinctly remembered closing it.
Inside, beneath my sweaters, I kept a small wooden jewelry box Mom had given me.
I opened it.
The necklace was there.
The earrings were there.
But the folded letter Mom had written before she died was gone.
I searched every drawer.
Every shelf.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
A cold feeling spread through me.
The letter had been sealed for years.
Mom had written my name on the envelope and asked Dad to give it to me when I turned twenty-one.
I'd received it on my birthday but hadn't opened it.
I wasn't ready.
Now it had vanished.
As I stood there, my bedroom door creaked.
Jasmine was watching me.
"Looking for something?"
I turned.
"Where is my mother's letter?"
She glanced at the jewelry box.
Then smiled.
"Oh, Maya."
My hands curled into fists.
"Where is it?"
She leaned against the doorway.
"Some things are better left in the past."
I stepped toward her.
"Give it back."
Her smile disappeared.
"Be careful how you speak to me."
"That letter belongs to me."
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then whispered:
"If you knew what your mother wrote in that letter, you'd understand why your father never wanted you to read it."
I froze.
"What?"
May you like
Jasmine walked away.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the missing money was even the worst secret in our house.
