Chapter 3
I hadn't seen Uncle Raymond since I was eleven years old.
But the moment I heard his voice, I remembered everything.
His enormous hugs.
The peppermint candies he always carried.
The way he'd lift me onto his shoulders and call me his little superstar.
After Mom died, he'd visited almost every weekend.
Then Denise married Dad.
And suddenly, Uncle Raymond stopped coming.
Denise told me he didn't want anything to do with us anymore.
I believed her.
What else was an eleven-year-old supposed to believe?
Now he was standing outside our house, shouting about documents my stepmother wanted destroyed.
Dad hurried upstairs.
I followed, with Jordan beside me.
Denise stayed behind.
At least, I thought she did.
When we reached the front door, Uncle Raymond was standing on the porch.
He looked older.
His beard had turned gray.
His shoulders were still broad, but there were deep lines around his eyes.
The moment he saw me, his face changed.
"Maya?"
My throat tightened.
"Uncle Raymond?"
He opened his arms.
I ran into them.
He held me so tightly that I started crying.
"Oh, baby girl."
His voice broke.
"Look how grown you've gotten."
I buried my face against his coat.
"Where did you go?"
He became very still.
Then he gently pulled back.
"What do you mean?"
"Denise said you didn't want to see me anymore."
His expression turned to disbelief.
"She told you that?"
I nodded.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Maya, I've been trying to see you for years."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Dad stepped forward.
"Raymond, what is going on?"
My uncle turned toward him.
"Marcus, we need to talk."
"About what?"
"Your daughter."
Dad frowned.
"What about Maya?"
Uncle Raymond reached into his coat and removed a thick envelope.
"I've spent five years trying to get you to listen."
Dad stared at him.
"You never contacted me."
Raymond laughed bitterly.
"I called your office dozens of times. I wrote letters. I came to this house."
"That's impossible."
"Every time, Denise told me you didn't want me here."
Dad's face went pale.
I felt something inside me break.
All those years, I thought Uncle Raymond had abandoned me.
He hadn't.
He had been kept away.
"Why didn't you come to my school?" I whispered.
He looked devastated.
"I tried."
"What happened?"
"Your stepmother told the school I wasn't permitted to contact you."
I covered my mouth.
He continued.
"Then I received a letter threatening legal action if I approached you."
Dad stared at him.
"What letter?"
Raymond handed him a folded document.
Dad read it.
His expression changed.
"That's not my signature."
Raymond nodded.
"I know that now."
I looked at the paper.
My father's name appeared at the bottom.
But the signature looked strange.
Too neat.
Too careful.
Like someone had practiced writing it.
I thought about the locked basement cabinet.
The missing envelope.
The black notebook.
And the message Denise had sent.
Get rid of it.
My stomach twisted.
Dad lowered the letter.
"Where is Denise?"
I looked toward the stairs.
She was gone.
Jordan rushed toward the hallway.
"Mom?"
No answer.
Dad called her name.
Silence.
Then we heard a door slam upstairs.
Jordan hurried toward the staircase.
Dad followed.
I moved after them, but Uncle Raymond gently caught my hand.
"Wait."
I looked up.
"Why?"
He lowered his voice.
"There's something I need to tell you before you see what's in that box."
My heart started pounding.
"About Mom?"
He nodded.
I felt tears gathering again.
"Is it bad?"
Raymond hesitated.
"It's painful."
I looked toward the stairs.
"Please tell me."
He took a deep breath.
"Your mother knew something was wrong before she died."
I froze.
"What do you mean?"
"She was worried about a financial arrangement involving your father's company."
I frowned.
"Dad's company?"
Raymond nodded.
"Your mother owned shares in the original business."
I stared at him.
I'd always believed Dad had built Williams Construction by himself.
He worked long hours.
He traveled constantly.
His name was on the building.
But Uncle Raymond was telling me my mother had owned part of it.
"How much?"
"Forty percent."
I couldn't speak.
Raymond continued.
"When your mother died, her ownership interest didn't simply disappear."
My throat tightened.
"What happened to it?"
"According to her estate plan, it was supposed to be held for you until you became an adult."
I stared at him.
"For me?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
I looked around our expensive house.
The marble floors.
The chandelier.
The designer furniture.
Everything I'd been told I should feel grateful for.
And I remembered Denise refusing to buy me school shoes because she claimed money was tight.
"How much was it worth?" I whispered.
Raymond hesitated.
"At the time your mother died, several hundred thousand dollars."
I swallowed.
"And now?"
"Potentially much more."
My knees weakened.
Uncle Raymond caught my arm.
"Easy, sweetheart."
I shook my head.
"No. I need to know."
He looked straight into my eyes.
"If the company grew the way Marcus says it did, your mother's shares could be worth millions."
The world seemed to stop.
Millions.
I'd gone to bed hungry.
I'd worn the same worn-out shoes for two years.
I'd been punished for asking for lunch money.
And somewhere in the background, my mother's money might have been helping support the very woman who mistreated me.
I pressed both hands against my mouth.
"Why didn't Dad tell me?"
Raymond's face softened.
"I don't think he knows the full truth."
I wanted to believe that.
But I wasn't sure anymore.
From upstairs, we heard shouting.
Dad's voice.
"Denise! Put that down!"
Then Jordan screamed.
"Mom, stop!"
I ran.
Uncle Raymond followed.
We reached the second floor just as Denise emerged from the master bedroom.
She was carrying a metal document case.
Her face was wild.
"Get out of my way!"
Dad stood near the staircase.
"Give me the case."
"No!"
"Denise, whatever is inside, it doesn't belong to you."
She laughed bitterly.
"You don't know anything!"
Jordan stepped closer.
"Mom, please."
She pointed at him.
"Stay out of this!"
I looked at the case.
A familiar green ribbon was caught beneath its lid.
My breath stopped.
I'd seen that ribbon before.
Mom used to tie it around birthday presents.
And the envelope I'd discovered in the basement had been wrapped with that exact same green ribbon.
"That's Mom's box," I whispered.
Denise turned toward me.
Her eyes filled with hatred.
"This is all your fault."
Dad stepped forward.
"Don't you dare blame Maya."
Denise looked toward the stairs.
Then toward the upstairs bathroom.
For one terrifying second, I thought she might try to destroy everything.
Uncle Raymond approached calmly.
"Denise, put it down."
She stared at him.
"You."
His face hardened.
"Hello, Denise."
She gave a short, bitter laugh.
"I should've known you'd show up."
Raymond held out his hand.
"Give Marcus the case."
"Or what?"
"Or the police can examine everything inside."
Denise froze.
Then something unexpected happened.
Jordan stepped between his mother and the bathroom.
"Mom."
His voice trembled.
"Enough."
She stared at him.
"Move."
"No."
"Jordan!"
He shook his head.
"I've watched you hurt Maya for years."
His eyes filled.
"I should've stopped you."
Denise's expression changed.
"You ungrateful little—"
"No, Mom."
He started crying.
"I'm done lying for you."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Denise dropped the case.
It hit the carpet with a heavy thud.
Dad immediately picked it up.
She sank against the wall.
I thought she'd finally surrendered.
But when Dad opened the case, his face changed.
Inside were several envelopes.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
And a thick black notebook.
Dad lifted the notebook.
His hands trembled.
He opened the first page.
I stood beside him.
There were dates.
Amounts.
Names.
And one repeated heading.
MAYA TRUST.
Dad turned another page.
Then another.
His breathing grew heavy.
I saw transactions for forty thousand dollars.
Seventy-five thousand.
One hundred and twenty thousand.
Each marked with a short handwritten note.
Household expenses.
Educational support.
Family distributions.
But none of that money had ever reached me.
Dad looked at Denise.
"Explain this."
She said nothing.
He turned another page.
Then stopped.
A single transaction had been circled in red.
Eight hundred and forty-six thousand dollars.
Beside it were three words.
FINAL ACCOUNT TRANSFER.
Dad stared at the date.
Then at Denise.
"That was last month."
Her eyes filled.
"Marcus—"
"Where is my daughter's money?"
She started crying.
"I was going to put it back."
Dad's voice shook.
"Put WHAT back?"
She looked down.
And whispered something that made everyone go silent.
"It's gone."
I couldn't breathe.
Dad stared at her.
"Gone?"
Denise nodded.
"I lost it."
I felt my stomach twist.
My mother's money.
Money she'd apparently left to protect my future.
Gone.
Dad stepped backward.
"How?"
Denise covered her face.
"I made a mistake."
Uncle Raymond shook his head.
"No."
Everyone turned toward him.
He looked directly at her.
"Tell them who helped you."
Denise lowered her hands.
I saw pure terror in her eyes.
Dad frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
Raymond reached into his coat.
And removed a photograph.
In it, Denise stood beside a tall man wearing a dark suit.
They were smiling outside a luxury hotel.
I recognized him immediately.
Mr. Bennett.
Dad's longtime business partner.
The man who'd attended every one of my birthday parties.
The man who called me his little princess.
Uncle Raymond looked at Dad.
"Your wife didn't steal that money alone."
May you like
He placed the photograph on the table.
"She stole it with your best friend."
