Chapter 3
My grandmother had been dead for six years.
But until that afternoon, I had never known she had left me money.
Dad stood in my bedroom doorway, holding his phone.
I could barely speak.
"Grandma Evelyn left me an account?"
His eyes filled with regret.
"Yes."
"How much?"
He looked away.
"Enough to change your life."
I stood up.
"Then why didn't anyone tell me?"
Dad sat back down.
"Because I trusted your mother to manage it until you turned eighteen."
My chest tightened.
"She knew?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't think I deserved to know?"
His silence hurt.
Not as much as Mom's betrayal.
But enough.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Your grandmother established a trust for your education and future. I should have reviewed the records regularly."
"How much, Dad?"
He finally answered.
"Two hundred and forty thousand dollars originally."
I stared at him.
The room seemed to tilt.
Grandma Evelyn had spent her entire life working as a nurse.
She drove an old car.
Clipped coupons.
Reused birthday decorations.
And somehow, she had saved that much for me.
I remembered her holding my hands when I was twelve.
"Baby girl, education gives you choices. Never let anyone take your choices."
I'd thought she was giving ordinary grandmother advice.
Now I understood.
She had been protecting my future long before she died.
"Where's the money?" I asked.
Dad looked down at the anonymous message.
"That's what we need to find out."
He called the trust administrator.
A woman named Patricia Wells answered.
When Dad requested the current balance, her tone changed.
"Mr. Carter, there have been several recent distributions."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"How many?"
"Three within the past six months."
"For what purpose?"
"Educational and beneficiary-support expenses."
I leaned closer.
"Whose education?"
Dad put the phone on speaker.
Patricia paused.
"Mr. Carter, I need to verify your authority before discussing the details. I can arrange a meeting tomorrow."
Dad agreed.
Then he asked one more question.
"Is the account still funded?"
Another pause.
"Yes. But the remaining balance is substantially lower than the last annual statement."
My blood ran cold.
"How much lower?"
"I'm sorry. I can't provide that over this call."
Dad closed his eyes.
When the call ended, he looked older.
"I'm going to get answers."
I crossed my arms.
"You said that when Mom stopped me from going on the eighth-grade science trip."
He looked at me.
"You remember?"
"Of course I remember."
Mom had told Dad the trip was canceled.
She told me Dad refused to pay.
I learned months later that she'd lied to both of us.
"You always believed her," I whispered.
Dad looked devastated.
"I know."
I wanted to forgive him.
But forgiveness suddenly felt complicated.
That evening, Mom came home carrying shopping bags.
As if nothing had happened.
She walked into the kitchen and found Dad waiting at the table.
I stood beside him.
My torn gown lay between us.
Mom stopped.
"What is this?"
Dad didn't move.
"Sit down."
"I'm exhausted."
"Sit down, Claire."
She dropped her bags onto the counter.
"Are we still talking about that ridiculous party?"
I felt something snap inside me.
"That ridiculous party was my graduation!"
Mom glared.
"Lower your voice."
"No."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"What did you say?"
"I said no."
It was the first time I'd ever refused her without apologizing afterward.
Dad placed his phone on the table.
"Tell me about Maya's trust."
Mom's face changed immediately.
"What trust?"
"The one my mother established."
She laughed nervously.
"Oh, that. What about it?"
"Where's the money?"
Mom looked toward the hallway.
"I don't manage those details."
Dad leaned forward.
"Claire, your name is on the distribution requests."
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
"You've been investigating me?"
"I've been protecting our daughter."
Mom laughed bitterly.
"Now you're suddenly a hero?"
"Where is her money?"
She stared at me.
I had never seen so much anger in someone's eyes.
"You put him up to this."
"I didn't even know the account existed!"
"Don't lie to me!"
Dad stood.
"Enough."
Mom grabbed her purse.
"I'm not having this conversation."
I stepped toward her.
"Did you give my grandmother's money to Sabrina?"
She froze.
That was my answer.
Tears burned my eyes.
"How could you?"
Mom turned slowly.
"You have a full scholarship, Maya. You don't need the money."
I stared at her.
"That doesn't make it yours."
"Sabrina needed help!"
"Then help her with your money!"
My mother's hand shot upward.
Dad caught her wrist before she could slap me.
"Never raise your hand to her again."
The room went silent.
Mom pulled away.
Then she looked at Dad with pure hatred.
"You'll regret choosing her over me."
Dad replied without hesitation.
"There was never supposed to be a choice."
My mother grabbed her shopping bags and stormed upstairs.
An hour later, Dad knocked on my door.
He was holding an envelope.
"I found this in the filing cabinet."
Inside were photocopies of distribution requests.
Three withdrawals.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Forty-five thousand dollars.
And sixty thousand dollars.
One hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars.
I could barely breathe.
Each request claimed the money was being used for my benefit.
Private tutoring.
Academic development.
Educational housing.
None of those expenses were mine.
But the final document made my hands go numb.
It was a signed authorization.
The beneficiary signature said:
Maya Carter.
I had never signed it.
Dad read it twice.
Then whispered, "That's not your handwriting."
Before I could answer, someone began pounding on our front door.
We went downstairs together.
Dad opened it.
Aunt Denise stood on the porch.
Her face was wet with tears.
Behind her stood Sabrina.
And Sabrina was holding a suitcase.
"Marcus," Aunt Denise whispered, "we need to talk."
Sabrina looked directly at me.
May you like
Then said something that stopped my heart.
"Maya, your mother told us you agreed to everything."
