Chapter 7
I stared at the phone.
Grandma's second house?
She had a beautiful rental property on the other side of town.
I'd visited it several times.
It had white shutters and a big backyard.
Grandma always called it her retirement investment.
She said she'd saved for years to buy it.
Now Dad was telling me money from my trust might have helped purchase it.
I felt sick.
"How much?"
Dad hesitated.
"We're still reviewing the records."
I swallowed.
"Did Grandma take my money?"
His voice softened.
"That's what we're trying to determine."
I looked toward Vanessa.
She was standing beside Noah.
Her smile had disappeared.
I knew she could tell something was wrong.
I told Dad I'd be home soon.
Then I ended the call.
Vanessa approached.
"Maya?"
I shook my head.
"I don't want to talk about it right now."
She nodded.
"Okay."
That simple answer nearly made me cry.
She didn't push.
Didn't demand.
Didn't make my feelings about herself.
She simply gave me space.
Daniel drove me home.
Noah hugged me goodbye.
"Will you come back?"
I smiled through tears.
"Yeah, buddy."
He grinned.
"Promise?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"I promise I'll do my best."
He hugged me again.
When I arrived home, Dad was sitting at the dining table with Camille.
Several folders lay open.
The house felt painfully quiet.
Dad stood immediately.
"Baby."
I sat down.
"Tell me."
Camille explained that an independent financial review had identified transfers from the education trust into an account Evelyn controlled.
Some withdrawals appeared to have been used for expenses associated with the rental property.
The records didn't yet establish which transactions were authorized.
But the amounts were substantial.
I stared at the documents.
My name appeared repeatedly.
I felt cold.
"Did Grandma have permission?"
Camille answered carefully.
"She had authority to manage certain funds for your benefit, but that doesn't automatically authorize every use."
I nodded.
Then asked the question that hurt most.
"Did she use my money to buy herself a house?"
Camille took a breath.
"The records suggest some of your funds may have been used toward that purchase."
I covered my mouth.
Dad looked devastated.
"I didn't know."
I stared at him.
For the first time, those words made me angry.
"You keep saying that."
He flinched.
I continued.
"You didn't know Mom was trying to see me."
His eyes filled.
"You didn't know Grandma was hiding letters."
I felt tears rising.
"You didn't know she changed my records."
My voice broke.
"And now you didn't know she was using my money?"
Dad lowered his head.
I stood.
"How could you not know anything?"
He didn't answer.
I ran upstairs.
Then slammed my bedroom door.
I collapsed onto my bed.
For a long time, I cried.
Not because of the money.
I barely understood what one hundred and eighty thousand dollars meant.
I cried because my father had trusted Grandma more than he trusted his own questions.
And every time he chose not to ask, somebody else made decisions about my life.
My mother disappeared.
My records changed.
My letters vanished.
My money moved.
And I was never asked.
I was sixteen.
Old enough to understand that adults made mistakes.
But young enough to wish they would stop making them with my future.
That evening, Dad knocked.
I didn't answer.
He sat outside my door.
I could hear him breathing.
After a while, he spoke.
"Maya, you're right."
I stared at the ceiling.
He continued.
"I trusted my mother without checking what she was doing."
His voice cracked.
"I thought I was protecting you by letting her handle things while I worked."
I closed my eyes.
"But I was wrong."
Silence.
Then he said something I'd never heard him say before.
"I failed you."
My throat tightened.
I sat up.
Dad continued.
"I can't change what happened. But I'm going to take responsibility for what I should have done."
I wiped my cheeks.
"I've hired separate counsel to review my own role in the trust administration."
I stared at the door.
"And I'm cooperating with the investigation."
I swallowed.
He paused.
"I don't expect you to forgive me because I say I'm sorry."
My eyes filled.
"I just want you to know I'm going to do better."
For a long time, I didn't move.
Then I opened the door.
Dad was sitting on the floor.
His eyes were red.
He looked older than he had a month earlier.
I stared at him.
"Do you still love Grandma?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"Even if she stole from me?"
His eyes filled.
"Yes. But loving her doesn't mean protecting her from consequences."
I sat beside him.
For a while, we said nothing.
Then I leaned against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around me.
I wasn't ready to forgive everything.
But I still needed my father.
And for the first time, he seemed willing to let me be angry without trying to make me stop.
The following week, Grandma Evelyn finally agreed to meet with the attorneys.
I didn't attend.
Camille later explained that Grandma had acknowledged controlling the trust account.
She claimed the money had been used for family purposes.
But some records contradicted that explanation.
The investigation continued.
Then another document surfaced.
It was an old letter from a bank.
Dated eleven years earlier.
The same year Vanessa lost contact with me.
The letter confirmed that Evelyn had requested expanded authority over the trust shortly after obtaining primary caregiver status.
And attached to the request was a declaration claiming Vanessa was permanently absent.
The signature on that declaration appeared to be Vanessa's.
But investigators had already identified serious questions about its authenticity.
I stared at the copy.
Then looked toward Dad.
May you like
He looked sick.
For the first time, the lies about my mother and the missing money seemed connected.
