Chapter 3
I had never heard of the Williams Family Education Fund.
Not once.
Not during the years I worried about paying for college.
Not during the nights I stayed awake filling out scholarship applications.
Not even when I cried because I thought my dream school was too expensive.
Yet my father was telling me that my grandmother had left money specifically for my education.
I stared at him.
"How much?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"I don't remember the exact amount."
"Dad."
He looked at me.
"Your grandmother established an education trust before she died. It was supposed to help you pay for college."
My grandmother, Ruth Williams, had passed away when I was twelve.
She was my father's mother.
She had been a public school principal for more than thirty years.
She believed education could change a person's life.
I remembered sitting beside her while she taught me fractions using slices of apple.
I remembered her telling me that knowledge was something nobody could take away.
The thought that she had left money for my future made my throat tighten.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
My father looked ashamed.
"Because I thought your mother was handling everything."
I stared at him.
"Handling what?"
"Your grandmother's attorney sent us information about the trust. Denise said she would keep the paperwork organized until you were ready for college."
"And you never checked?"
He lowered his head.
"No."
I stood.
I loved my father.
He was the one person who had defended me when my mother destroyed my scholarship letter.
But I couldn't ignore what he was admitting.
He had allowed my mother to control something important without making sure it was safe.
"Dad, I've been applying for scholarships for two years."
"I know."
"I've been worried about money every single day."
His eyes filled with tears.
"I know."
"And you thought there was a trust?"
He nodded slowly.
I turned away.
I didn't want to cry in front of him.
Not again.
He stood behind me.
"Maya, I'm sorry."
I wiped my face.
"Please don't just say sorry. Find out what happened."
He nodded.
"I will."
The next morning, my father contacted my grandmother's former attorney.
Her name was Patricia Reynolds.
She remembered our family immediately.
When my father explained the situation, her tone became serious.
"Marcus, you need to come to my office."
"Why?"
"Because the trust was supposed to be used only for Maya's education and related expenses."
I sat beside him, listening.
My father asked the question I was afraid to hear answered.
"Is the money still there?"
Patricia paused.
"I need to review the records before discussing the current balance."
We arranged an appointment for the following afternoon.
Meanwhile, Bellmont University temporarily suspended the declination review and began investigating the unauthorized activity.
Mrs. Brooks emailed me directly.
She explained that the admissions committee would review my scholarship status after account security was restored.
I wanted to feel relieved.
But now there was another problem.
My grandmother's trust.
My mother's financial secrets.
And the growing fear that the two were connected.
That evening, my mother returned home.
She walked into the kitchen as though nothing had happened.
I was sitting at the table with my father.
He had printed the financial declaration.
He placed it in front of her.
"Explain this."
She glanced at the paper.
Then she looked at me.
"Why are you showing your father private documents?"
I almost laughed.
"Private?"
My father spoke before I could.
"Denise, this document contains Maya's forged signature."
She rolled her eyes.
"I signed it for her."
"Without asking her?"
"It was paperwork."
I stared at her.
"You told the university I was dropping out."
"Because that's what I thought was best."
I stood so quickly my chair scraped against the floor.
"Best for who?"
My mother looked offended.
"Watch your tone."
"No."
Both my parents stared at me.
For eighteen years, that single word had been almost impossible for me to say to my mother.
But I was done being silent.
"No, Mom. You don't get to make decisions about my future and then tell me I'm disrespectful for asking questions."
Her face reddened.
"I raised you."
"And I love you. But that doesn't mean you can control my life."
My father placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Denise, we also need to discuss Mom's trust."
My mother froze.
It was only for a second.
But I saw it.
Her eyes widened.
Then she looked away.
"What trust?"
My father stared at her.
"The education trust my mother created for Maya."
She shrugged.
"That old account?"
My heart began pounding.
"Where is the money?"
My mother took a slow breath.
"Invested."
My father frowned.
"Invested where?"
"In the salon."
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
"What?"
She crossed her arms.
"The business needed money. I used some of the fund to keep it operating."
My father stood.
"Denise, that money was for Maya."
"And the salon supports this family!"
"How much did you use?"
She looked toward the hallway.
"Don't start."
"How much?"
My mother slammed her hand against the table.
"I don't know the exact amount!"
I felt my chest tighten.
My grandmother had worked for decades.
She had saved money for me.
And my mother had apparently used it without telling anyone.
"Mom," I whispered, "how much is left?"
She looked directly at me.
"Enough."
I shook my head.
"Enough for what?"
She didn't answer.
My father picked up the documents.
"We're meeting Patricia Reynolds tomorrow."
My mother's expression changed.
"Why?"
"To review the trust."
She stepped closer.
"Marcus, don't."
He stared at her.
"Why not?"
"Because you'll make everything worse."
My father looked at me.
Then back at her.
"No. Keeping secrets made everything worse."
My mother grabbed his arm.
"Please."
Her voice had changed.
For the first time, she sounded afraid.
My father gently removed her hand.
"Denise, we need the truth."
She stared at him.
Then she whispered, "You don't understand what I've done."
My stomach twisted.
"What did you do?"
She began crying.
But instead of answering, she walked upstairs and locked herself in the bedroom.
The following afternoon, my father and I sat in Patricia Reynolds's office.
Patricia was a calm woman in her late fifties.
She placed a thick folder on the table.
"Your grandmother established the trust twelve years ago," she explained.
"It was funded with an initial deposit and additional investments."
I leaned forward.
"How much?"
She looked at me gently.
"At the beginning of this year, it should have held approximately one hundred and eighty thousand dollars."
I stopped breathing.
One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
My grandmother had left me enough money to cover college expenses and help me begin my adult life.
I looked at my father.
His face had gone pale.
Patricia turned another page.
"However, I've recently discovered several unusual withdrawals."
My heart hammered.
"How many?"
She looked down.
"Fourteen transfers over the past three years."
My father gripped the edge of his chair.
"How much was taken?"
Patricia took a breath.
"Approximately one hundred and sixty-four thousand dollars."
I felt the room tilt.
Almost everything.
My grandmother's money was gone.
Patricia continued.
"The transfers were authorized using documents that appear to contain Maya's signature."
I stared at her.
"But I was a minor."
"Exactly."
She turned the folder toward us.
"And that's why I believe these transactions may have involved fraud."
My father leaned forward.
"Who received the money?"
Patricia pointed to the account information.
Most transfers went to a company called Denise Williams Beauty Enterprises.
But several went to another business.
Harris Financial Consulting.
I had never heard of it.
My father had.
I knew immediately because his expression changed.
He whispered, "Trevor."
I looked at him.
"Who's Trevor?"
My father closed his eyes.
"Your mother's brother."
I stared at the account name.
My uncle Trevor had always been the charming member of our family.
He wore expensive watches.
He drove luxury cars.
He told stories about successful investments.
And he had disappeared from our lives almost two years earlier.
My father looked at Patricia.
"Are you saying Trevor received Maya's money?"
She nodded.
"According to these records, he received more than ninety thousand dollars."
I sat frozen.
Then Patricia showed us one final document.
It was an agreement transferring control of my education trust to a private investment company.
The document carried my mother's signature.
And beneath it was another signature.
Mine.
I stared at the paper.
Then Patricia said the words that changed everything.
"Maya, someone didn't just steal money from your trust."
She turned the page.
"They also used your identity to open a substantial loan."
My father stood abruptly.
"What loan?"
Patricia looked at me with deep concern.
"A loan for sixty-five thousand dollars."
May you like
I could barely breathe.
"And according to the lender, you're the borrower."
