Chapter 6
I stared at my father.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak.
My mother had left me money.
Enough to change my future.
Enough to make sure I could attend college.
Enough to protect me if something ever happened to Dad.
And Vanessa had apparently been trying to gain influence over it.
I felt sick.
"Why didn't you tell me about the trust?"
Dad looked down.
"Because I wanted you to have a normal childhood."
I shook my head.
"Normal?"
My voice broke.
"Dad, nothing about this feels normal."
His eyes filled.
"I know."
I looked toward the window.
For years, I'd thought Vanessa hated me because she wanted my father's attention.
Now I wondered whether money had been part of it all along.
"Did she know about the trust when you married her?"
Dad hesitated.
"She learned about it afterward."
I swallowed.
"How?"
"Through some family financial discussions."
I nodded slowly.
Then asked the question that frightened me most.
"Was she trying to take my mom's money?"
Dad took a breath.
"That's what we're investigating."
I looked away.
For the first time, I felt angry enough to shout.
Not because of the money itself.
But because it was something my mother had left for me.
A final way of taking care of her daughter.
And Vanessa had tried to use my grief, my age, and my father's trust against me.
I started crying.
Dad stood.
He came around the desk.
"Sweetheart..."
I pulled away.
"Please don't."
He stopped.
I wiped my cheeks.
"I need a minute."
He nodded.
"Okay."
I stood and walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
"Dad?"
He looked up.
"Yes?"
"Did Mom know you would marry someone else?"
His expression changed.
He looked devastated.
"I don't think she knew what the future would hold."
I swallowed.
"But she wanted you to be loved again?"
He nodded slowly.
"Yes."
I looked at him.
"Then I don't understand why Vanessa couldn't love me too."
Dad's face crumpled.
Neither did I.
That night, I went into my room and opened the small wooden box where I kept my mother's things.
A photograph.
A silver bracelet.
A birthday card she'd written when I turned six.
And a faded ribbon from one of her dresses.
I sat on my bed, holding the photograph.
Mom was smiling.
Her long curly hair fell over her shoulders.
I remembered how warm her hugs felt.
How she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine.
I traced her face with my finger.
"Mom, I miss you."
My voice broke.
I had spent years trying not to cry about her.
Vanessa hated when I brought her up.
She said it made the house depressing.
She said Dad needed to move on.
So I'd learned to keep my grief private.
But now I cried openly.
Because I was tired of pretending.
A few minutes later, someone knocked.
"Maya?"
It was Grandma.
I wiped my face.
"Come in."
She entered carrying a small envelope.
Her expression was gentle.
"I found something I think you should have."
I looked up.
"What?"
She sat beside me.
Then handed me the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
In my mother's handwriting.
My heart stopped.
"Grandma..."
She nodded.
"Your mother wrote this before she died."
I stared at it.
"Why didn't I get it?"
Grandma's eyes filled.
"She asked me to give it to you when you were old enough to understand."
I swallowed.
"Am I old enough now?"
She smiled sadly.
"I think you are."
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
I recognized Mom's handwriting immediately.
She wrote about how much she loved me.
About the joy I brought into her life.
About how proud she was of my kindness.
Then she wrote something that made me cry harder.
"My sweet Maya, if life ever makes you feel unwanted, remember that you were the greatest gift your father and I ever received."
I covered my mouth.
Grandma wrapped an arm around me.
I kept reading.
Mom wrote that family wasn't measured only by blood.
It was measured by love.
By honesty.
By the way people treated one another when things became difficult.
Then came the sentence I needed most.
"You never have to become smaller to make room for someone else's happiness."
I started sobbing.
Grandma held me.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered, "She knew."
Grandma stroked my hair.
"She knew the world could be unkind."
I looked at the letter again.
"But she wanted me to remember who I was."
Grandma smiled through tears.
"Exactly."
The following morning, Dad arranged a meeting with the trustee responsible for managing my mother's estate.
Her name was Rebecca Brooks.
She was a calm woman in her fifties with neatly twisted hair and sharp eyes.
I sat beside Dad in his study.
Grandma was there too.
Rebecca explained that the trust had been designed to protect my future.
The funds were managed independently.
My father could receive information and participate in certain decisions concerning my welfare.
But he couldn't simply transfer the money wherever he wanted.
Neither could Vanessa.
I felt relief.
Then Rebecca showed us something disturbing.
Vanessa had submitted documents requesting changes to how certain educational expenses would be handled.
The proposed boarding school was expensive.
Very expensive.
And the paperwork suggested that substantial payments would be made through an education management company.
I frowned.
"What company?"
Rebecca pointed to the name.
Bright Path Educational Services.
Dad's expression changed.
He looked toward his attorney.
"I've heard that name."
Rebecca nodded.
"That's what concerns us."
She explained that Bright Path had recently been established.
Its ownership records showed a connection to someone associated with Vanessa.
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
Rebecca hesitated.
Then answered.
"Vanessa's younger brother, Richard."
I stared at her.
Uncle Richard.
The man who always brought gifts at Christmas.
The man who told me I was lucky to live in such a beautiful house.
The man who had joked that boarding school would make me more disciplined.
I felt sick.
Dad stood.
His face was furious.
"She involved Richard?"
Rebecca nodded.
"The records suggest a possible connection that needs further review."
I looked down at my mother's letter.
The words blurred.
Vanessa had wanted me gone.
Richard might have been helping.
And money intended to protect my future had become part of their plan.
Then Rebecca turned another page.
Her expression became serious.
"There's something else."
Dad looked at her.
"What?"
She pointed to a signature.
It was my father's name.
Marcus Carter.
Dad stared.
"I didn't sign that."
Rebecca nodded slowly.
"That's what we need to establish."
I felt my heart pounding.
May you like
Because suddenly, Vanessa hadn't only forged my signature.
She might have forged my father's too.
