Chapter 5
I had always believed Mom left me one hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
That was the amount Dad mentioned whenever we discussed college.
He said Mom had saved carefully.
That she wanted me to graduate without debt.
That the money belonged to me when I was older.
But now Monica was telling us there might be more.
Much more.
Dad stared at her.
"What are you talking about?"
Monica looked uncomfortable.
"I don't know everything."
"Then tell us what you do know."
She took a breath.
"Before Denise married you, she told me Victor had discovered something in Maya's mother's estate."
My heart pounded.
"What something?"
"An additional investment account."
Dad frowned.
"That's impossible. Charles handled everything."
Charles spoke from the laptop.
"Marcus, the estate included assets held through several institutions. I'll review the full inventory."
I stared at him.
"Could there be money nobody told me about?"
He looked at me gently.
"It's possible there are assets you've never discussed. That doesn't necessarily mean they were hidden improperly."
I nodded.
But my stomach remained tight.
Monica continued.
"Denise said Victor believed the trust was going to increase significantly when Maya turned eighteen."
Dad looked sick.
"Why would Denise know that?"
Monica lowered her eyes.
"Because Victor told her."
I felt anger rising.
"So they were talking about my money before she even married Dad?"
Monica nodded slowly.
"I think so."
I stared at the floor.
For two years, Denise had criticized everything I did.
My clothes.
My grades.
My friends.
My attitude.
She told Dad I was spoiled.
Ungrateful.
Too attached to my mother's memory.
Now I wondered whether she'd been trying to make me seem unreliable.
Someone who couldn't be trusted with money.
Someone who needed adult supervision.
Someone whose future could be controlled.
Dad covered his face.
"I brought her into our home."
I looked at him.
His voice broke.
"I let her near you."
For a moment, I felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered every time I'd tried to tell him something was wrong.
Every time he'd asked me to be patient.
Every time I'd swallowed my feelings because I didn't want another argument.
I loved Dad.
But I wasn't going to pretend his mistakes hadn't hurt me.
"Daddy," I said quietly, "I told you she didn't like me."
He looked up.
Tears filled his eyes.
"I know."
"You said I was imagining things."
He nodded.
"I know."
"You told me to respect her because she was your wife."
His face crumpled.
"I'm sorry."
I swallowed.
"I needed you to believe me before there was a bank statement."
Dad began crying.
I had never seen him look so defeated.
He reached toward me.
Then stopped.
"You're right."
I stared at him.
"I failed you."
My eyes filled.
He continued.
"I was so afraid of losing another marriage that I ignored what my daughter was telling me."
I looked down.
"I don't want you to be lonely."
He shook his head.
"That's not your responsibility."
For a long moment, we sat in silence.
Then Dad whispered, "Can you forgive me?"
I looked at him.
I wanted to say yes.
But I wasn't ready.
So I told him the truth.
"I want to."
He nodded.
"That's enough for now."
That night, I slept in Dad's guest room because my own bedroom suddenly felt uncomfortable.
Denise had gone through my things before.
She'd borrowed my laptop without asking.
Read messages on my phone.
Opened drawers under the excuse of cleaning.
I didn't know what she might have copied.
Dad changed the house alarm codes.
He also arranged to have the locks rekeyed after Charles explained the legal and practical steps we needed to consider.
The following morning, Charles called.
He had reviewed Mom's estate records.
There was an additional investment account.
My heart accelerated.
"How much?"
Charles paused.
"At the time of your mother's death, it was worth approximately six hundred thousand dollars."
I stared at him.
"Six hundred thousand?"
Dad looked stunned.
Charles continued.
"The account was placed into a separate custodial trust arrangement for your benefit."
I felt dizzy.
"Why didn't Dad know?"
"He knew there were investment assets, but the exact current value hadn't been discussed recently. The trust was managed independently."
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"What is it worth now?"
Charles looked at the statement.
"Approximately nine hundred and forty thousand dollars."
I stopped breathing.
Nearly a million dollars.
Mom had left me nearly a million dollars.
Not because she wanted me to be rich.
Because she wanted me safe.
I stared at the screen.
"Does Denise know?"
Charles looked serious.
"We're investigating what information Victor accessed."
My stomach tightened.
"If she knew about that money, then the five hundred dollars was nothing."
Dad nodded slowly.
"Exactly."
Suddenly, the shopping receipt seemed almost ridiculous.
Five hundred dollars had started the argument.
But someone was trying to gain access to far more.
Charles explained that Victor had once provided administrative services related to the estate.
That relationship had ended years earlier.
But investigators were now examining whether he improperly retained records or accessed information afterward.
I listened carefully.
Then asked the question that frightened me most.
"Can they take the trust?"
Charles shook his head.
"The trust has independent protections, and we've notified the trustee about the disputed authorization. Any improper request will be challenged."
I exhaled.
For the first time in days, I felt a little relief.
But it didn't last.
That afternoon, Dad received a letter from Denise's attorney.
She claimed Dad was denying her access to the marital home.
She accused him of turning Tasha against her.
She also claimed I had manipulated the family conflict.
I stared at the letter.
"She's still blaming me."
Dad shook his head.
"Not anymore."
He called Charles.
They discussed separation.
Temporary living arrangements.
Financial records.
And how to protect both girls from further conflict.
Tasha called me that evening.
She sounded exhausted.
"Hey."
"Hey."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, "I'm sorry about everything."
I stared at my bedroom wall.
"I know."
She sniffled.
"I didn't know about the trust."
"I believe you."
She hesitated.
"Do you hate me?"
I closed my eyes.
A week earlier, I might have said I didn't know.
Now I remembered her trembling hands.
The way she cried when Denise shouted.
The fear in her eyes.
"No, Tasha."
She began crying.
"I was awful to you."
"Sometimes."
She gave a weak laugh.
"I know."
I took a breath.
"But we can talk about that later."
She sniffled.
"Okay."
Then she said something unexpected.
"Maya, I found something."
My heart accelerated.
"What?"
"Mom left an old laptop at Aunt Monica's house."
I sat upright.
"How do you know?"
"She used it when she stayed there last month."
I felt cold.
"What about it?"
Tasha lowered her voice.
"I saw a folder with your name."
My stomach tightened.
"What kind of folder?"
"I don't know."
"Did you open it?"
She hesitated.
"Just one file."
My pulse quickened.
"What was inside?"
Her voice began trembling.
"A document about your trust."
I stared at the wall.
Then she whispered, "Maya, it had a date on it."
"What date?"
"Your eighteenth birthday."
I felt cold.
"And next to it, Mom wrote something."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
Tasha swallowed.
"She wrote, 'Final transfer before Maya finds out.'"
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
May you like
Then Tasha began crying.
"Maya, I think my mom has been planning this for years."
