Chapter 7
Leonard had transferred the money through several accounts before Mom reached the bank.
Patrice worked with her attorney and the bank to trace it. I provided the booking records and security logs from the house.
Some of the missing money belonged to me through the trust. Some belonged to Mom’s company. I wanted both amounts accounted for.
A week later, Leonard’s attorney sent a letter. It claimed Mom had approved all payments and that I had no right to question the business.
Patrice laid the letter on the table.
“Your mother’s signatures are on some of the original agreements,” she said. “That doesn’t answer where this money went.”
Mom sat beside me. She looked exhausted.
“I signed too much without reading it,” she said.
I could have said she had expected me to accept her word without reading anything either. I thought of her sitting across from me now, willing to open the records.
“Then we keep checking,” I said.
Dad arrived late with a folder of his own. He had gathered every trust statement from the years he managed it, including the letter allowing the limited bookings.
“I want you and Patrice to see everything I signed,” he told me.
“Thank you.”
“I also want Elena to review whether I owe the trust anything because I failed to enforce the six-month limit.”
Mom looked at him.
“Robert, Leonard is the one who took it.”
“I’m responsible for what I agreed to manage.”
He did not say it to win an argument. He put the folder down and let Patrice take it.
The three of us sat at the same table for the first time since the night Mom expelled me. There were no raised voices. I was still uncomfortable.
Before leaving, Mom asked whether she could collect the clothes in the large bedroom on Sunday.
“Yes. I’ll be here.”
She nodded.
On Sunday, she came alone. We folded her dresses into boxes. She stopped at the silk scarf on the dresser.
“I bought this when you got your first job,” she said. “You told me it made me look like I ran the entire city.”
“I remember.”
“You were being kind.”
“You did look powerful.”
She smiled, then put it in the box.
“I thought if I built something successful with this house, Grace would finally be wrong about me.”
“She isn’t here to judge what you build.”
“I know. I spent more time arguing with her in my head than I spent listening to you.”
I sealed the box.
“Mom, why did you keep her letter?”
“She gave it to me in the hospital and asked me to hand it to you after her funeral. I read the outside. I could see she had written to you about the property.”
“You could have given it to me.”
“I was angry. Later, I couldn’t admit what I’d done.”
I carried the box to her car. It was hard to hear her say it, but I was glad she finally had.
The investigation into Leonard’s accounts took another month. The bank recovered some of the transferred money. His business records showed he had billed for work never done and redirected payments from guests.
Patrice brought us the findings before anyone contacted him again.
Mom read every page.
“He told me he loved me,” she said.
Dad looked away.
I did not know what to say. She had trusted Leonard and betrayed my trust at the same time. Both had left her exposed.
Her attorney helped her make a formal report about the missing money. I made my own statement about the trust and its property. Dad provided the agreement he had signed.
A few days later, Leonard called me from an unfamiliar number.
“If your mother had kept family business private,” he said, “none of this would be happening.”
“You took money from bookings at my house.”
“She approved my management.”
“She didn’t approve you hiding payments.”
He laughed without warmth.
“You sound just like Grace.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I ended the call and sent the number to Patrice.
That evening, I sat on the terrace with Grandma’s photograph. The sun was setting over the valley, just as it had when I was a child.
Dad’s car came through the gate. I let him in.
“Do you want dinner?” he asked. “I brought too much.”
We ate from paper containers at the kitchen island. He asked about my work and listened to the answer. Neither of us mentioned the trust until I did.
“I don’t know when I’ll trust you the way I used to,” I said.
“I understand.”
“But you can keep showing me the truth.”
“I will.”
May you like
I looked toward the photograph.
For years, I had thought being a strong daughter meant keeping peace between my parents. I was beginning to learn that I could love them both without doing that job for them.
