Chapter 3
I had heard Victor Hayes's name before.
But only in conversations Dad thought I wasn't listening to.
After Mom died, there had been meetings.
Lawyers.
Bank statements.
Insurance documents.
Adults speaking quietly behind closed doors.
I was eleven.
I didn't understand most of it.
I only knew that Mom had left things behind.
Her wedding ring.
A collection of handwritten recipes.
A small jewelry box.
And money she had saved for my future.
Dad promised me that when I turned eighteen, I would have access to the trust Mom created.
He said it was her final gift.
Something she wanted to make sure nobody could take away.
Now Dad was staring at Victor Hayes's photograph as though he'd seen a ghost.
"Daddy, what's going on?"
He placed my phone on the bed.
"Victor used to work with our family attorney."
"Used to?"
Dad nodded.
"He helped organize the financial paperwork after your mother passed."
I frowned.
"Then why is Denise meeting him?"
Dad didn't answer.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Daddy?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"I don't know."
But something in his expression told me he was frightened of the answer.
The next morning, Dad called his attorney, Charles Bennett.
Charles had known our family for years.
He'd attended Mom's funeral.
He'd sent me birthday cards when I was little.
And unlike most adults, he never spoke to me as though being young meant I was stupid.
Dad explained the photograph.
The anonymous messages.
The argument about the envelope.
Charles listened quietly.
Then asked, "Marcus, has Denise had access to any of Maya's financial documents?"
Dad frowned.
"Not officially."
"What do you mean?"
"She helps organize household paperwork."
Charles paused.
"Does she have access to your office?"
Dad looked toward the hallway.
"Yes."
My stomach dropped.
Dad kept important documents in a locked filing cabinet downstairs.
Or at least, it used to be locked.
A few months earlier, Denise had convinced him to organize everything into labeled folders.
She said the office was too messy.
I remembered her spending an entire weekend sorting papers.
At the time, I thought she was being helpful.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Charles asked Dad to check the cabinet.
We went downstairs together.
Denise had already left for work.
Tasha was still asleep.
Dad opened the bottom drawer.
Several folders sat neatly arranged.
Insurance.
Taxes.
Property.
Then a blue folder labeled MAYA TRUST.
He opened it.
His expression changed.
"What?"
I leaned closer.
The folder was almost empty.
Only an old account statement remained.
Dad flipped through it.
"Where are the rest of the documents?"
I stared at him.
"What documents?"
"The original trust agreement. The account information. The paperwork from your mother's estate."
He looked through the drawer again.
Nothing.
His breathing quickened.
"Denise."
I felt cold.
Dad called Charles back.
He explained what was missing.
Charles grew serious.
"Marcus, I want you to stop searching and preserve what remains. I'll contact the trustee and request copies."
Dad nodded.
"Okay."
I stood beside him.
My heart was pounding.
"Could Denise have taken Mom's money?"
Dad looked at me.
For a long moment, he didn't answer.
Then he said, "We're going to find out."
That afternoon, Tasha knocked on my bedroom door.
I was sitting at my desk.
"Can I come in?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
She stepped inside.
Her eyes were swollen.
She looked like she'd been crying again.
For several seconds, she stood near the doorway.
Then whispered, "I'm sorry."
I stared at her.
She swallowed.
"About yesterday."
I looked away.
"You let your mom call me a thief."
Tasha nodded.
"I know."
"You knew you'd spent the money."
"I know."
"And you watched her scream at me."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I was scared."
I looked back.
"Of what?"
She hesitated.
"Mom."
That surprised me.
Tasha rarely admitted being afraid of Denise.
She usually defended her.
Sometimes she joined in when Denise criticized me.
I folded my arms.
"Why were you scared?"
Tasha sat on the edge of my bed.
"Because that money wasn't supposed to be spent."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"I know."
She shook her head.
"No. You don't."
I stared at her.
"Then tell me."
Tasha looked toward the door.
Then lowered her voice.
"Mom has been getting envelopes from a man."
My heart accelerated.
"What man?"
"I don't know his name."
"Does he wear gray suits?"
Her eyes widened.
"Sometimes."
I felt cold.
"Victor Hayes?"
Tasha looked confused.
"Maybe."
I leaned forward.
"What do you mean envelopes?"
She swallowed.
"Cash. Sometimes documents."
I stared at her.
"How long?"
"Months."
My stomach twisted.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Tasha began crying.
"Mom said it was business."
I took a breath.
"Then why did she give you five hundred dollars?"
Tasha wiped her face.
"She asked me to keep it in my room."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"She said Dad checks the bank accounts."
My heart sank.
I stared at her.
"So she wanted to hide cash from him."
Tasha nodded.
I felt angry.
But beneath the anger was something else.
Fear.
Because I suddenly understood that Tasha had been pulled into something she didn't fully understand.
I softened my voice.
"Tasha, you need to tell Dad."
She shook her head immediately.
"No."
"Why?"
"Mom will hate me."
I stared at her.
"She won't hate you."
Tasha looked at me with tears in her eyes.
"You don't know that."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Then she whispered, "There's something else."
I felt cold.
"What?"
She looked toward the hallway again.
"Last week, Mom made me sign a paper."
My heart accelerated.
"What kind of paper?"
"I don't know."
"What did it say?"
"She told me it was for school."
I frowned.
"Why would you sign something for school without reading it?"
Tasha looked ashamed.
"Because she got mad when I asked questions."
I took a slow breath.
"Do you have a copy?"
She shook her head.
"But I saw your name."
My stomach dropped.
"My name?"
Tasha nodded.
"On the first page."
I stared at her.
"Why would my name be on your school paperwork?"
She began crying harder.
"I don't know!"
I stood.
"We need to tell Dad."
Tasha grabbed my hand.
"Please don't!"
I looked down at her.
She was trembling.
For the first time, I saw my stepsister differently.
Not as the girl who got everything she wanted.
But as another sixteen-year-old caught between adults making terrible choices.
I sat beside her.
"Listen to me."
She looked up.
"If your mom is doing something wrong, hiding it won't protect you."
Tasha wiped her eyes.
"I know."
I squeezed her hand.
"Then let's tell him together."
She nodded slowly.
We went downstairs.
Dad was sitting in his office.
When he saw us, he looked surprised.
"Girls?"
I took a breath.
"Daddy, Tasha needs to tell you something."
His expression changed.
He looked at her.
"Tasha?"
She began crying.
Dad stood immediately.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
She looked at me.
I nodded encouragingly.
Then she whispered, "Mom made me sign something."
Dad froze.
"What?"
Tasha explained the document.
The envelopes.
The cash.
The man in the gray suit.
Dad listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he looked deeply shaken.
Then his phone rang.
Charles.
Dad answered immediately.
"Hello?"
He listened.
His expression collapsed.
"What do you mean?"
I felt my heart pounding.
Dad looked at me.
Then at Tasha.
"Are you sure?"
A long pause.
Then he whispered, "Oh, God."
He ended the call.
I stepped forward.
"Daddy?"
He sat down heavily.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he looked at me.
"Maya, your mother's trust account has been accessed."
My knees weakened.
"What?"
Dad's voice broke.
"Someone submitted documents requesting a distribution."
I stared.
"How much?"
He swallowed.
"One hundred and eighty thousand dollars."
I covered my mouth.
"And the paperwork says you authorized it."
The room went silent.
May you like
Then Dad whispered the words that made everything worse.
"The authorization includes a signature that looks exactly like yours."
