Chapter 3
My father's question hung in the kitchen like a storm cloud.
Nobody moved.
Denise stared at the floor.
Jordan was still holding my elbow.
I pulled away gently and leaned against the counter.
My hands were shaking.
"Answer him," I whispered.
Denise began crying.
"I didn't forge anything."
Dad's eyes narrowed.
"Then who did?"
She shook her head.
"I trusted someone."
I felt anger rise.
"Who?"
Denise looked toward Jordan.
"Go upstairs, sweetheart."
He didn't move.
"Mom, stop."
Her expression changed.
"Jordan."
He shook his head.
"I'm eighteen."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"And Maya deserves to know what happened."
Denise looked betrayed.
For once, her favorite child wasn't defending her.
Dad ended the bank call after requesting an immediate restriction on the trust account and copies of the disputed records.
Then he called our family attorney.
Her name was Rebecca Ellis.
She'd worked with Dad for years.
Within an hour, she was sitting at our kitchen island examining the receipt.
I remained beside Dad.
Denise sat across from us.
Jordan stood near the window.
Rebecca studied the document carefully.
"Marcus, who is the trustee?"
Dad answered.
"An independent firm. Palmer Fiduciary Services."
Rebecca frowned.
"Then Denise shouldn't have been able to authorize transfers by herself."
Dad nodded.
"Exactly."
I looked at her.
"Does that mean someone at the company helped?"
Rebecca's expression softened.
"It means we need to investigate how the withdrawals were approved."
I nodded.
At least she wasn't pretending everything was simple.
She opened another document.
"Who is Elaine Porter?"
Denise suddenly looked up.
My stomach tightened.
Dad frowned.
"Elaine?"
Rebecca turned the page toward him.
"Her name appears on the transfer paperwork."
Denise covered her face.
I stared at her.
"Who is she?"
Dad looked toward Denise.
"Your sister?"
My mouth fell open.
Denise had an older sister named Elaine.
I'd only met her twice.
She worked in financial administration.
Claire always said Elaine was brilliant with money.
I swallowed.
"Your sister helped you?"
Denise began crying harder.
"She said it was legal."
Rebecca looked serious.
"What exactly did she say?"
Denise took a shaking breath.
"She said the trust had provisions allowing family-related expenses."
Dad shook his head.
"Maya's education trust isn't a household spending account."
"I know that now!"
Rebecca leaned forward.
"Did Elaine prepare the authorization documents?"
Denise nodded.
I felt sick.
"And Mom's signature?"
Denise closed her eyes.
"She said it was copied from an old authorization."
Dad stood.
His chair scraped against the floor.
"Nicole never authorized this."
I stared at him.
His eyes were filled with tears.
My mother, Nicole Johnson, had died when I was six.
She was a nurse.
She worked long shifts.
Even when she was sick, she worried about my future.
Dad told me she'd put money aside because she wanted me to have opportunities she never had.
Now somebody had used her signature after she died.
I couldn't understand how anyone could be that cruel.
I looked at Denise.
"You knew Mom was dead."
She began sobbing.
"Maya, please."
"You knew."
My voice cracked.
"And you let somebody use her name."
Denise reached toward me.
I stepped backward.
"Don't touch me."
Her hand remained suspended between us.
For once, she had nothing to say.
Rebecca asked Dad for the original trust documents.
He disappeared into his office.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a blue folder.
I recognized it.
He kept it in a locked cabinet with our passports and important papers.
He opened it carefully.
Inside were documents bearing Mom's name.
Nicole Johnson.
Seeing her handwriting made my chest ache.
Rebecca reviewed the trust agreement.
Then she turned toward Dad.
"Marcus, there's a provision here you may have forgotten."
He frowned.
"What provision?"
"Nicole requested that Maya receive annual financial summaries beginning at sixteen."
I stared at her.
"What?"
Rebecca looked toward me.
"You're seventeen now."
I nodded.
She continued.
"You should have received at least one report."
Dad looked stunned.
"I never saw anything about that."
Denise suddenly stood.
"I need some water."
Rebecca looked toward her.
"Mrs. Johnson, did any trust correspondence arrive at this address?"
Denise froze.
Dad slowly turned.
"Denise?"
She swallowed.
"Sometimes."
My stomach twisted.
"What happened to it?"
She looked away.
"I handled the mail."
Dad stared at her.
"Did you hide statements from Maya?"
Denise began shaking her head.
"Not hide."
I felt tears rise.
"Then where are they?"
She didn't answer.
Dad moved toward the kitchen drawer where she kept bills.
He opened it.
Inside were envelopes.
Receipts.
Old credit card statements.
Then he found a thick envelope from Palmer Fiduciary Services.
It was addressed to me.
Maya Johnson.
Private and Confidential.
The seal had been broken.
Dad held it up.
"Why is this open?"
Denise began crying again.
"I needed to understand what was happening."
Rebecca's expression hardened.
Dad opened the envelope.
Inside was a statement dated four months earlier.
I watched him read.
His face changed.
Then he handed it to Rebecca.
She examined the figures.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
"What?"
Dad looked at me.
"Sweetheart, your mother's trust originally held more money than I remembered."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
He swallowed.
"Nearly two hundred thousand dollars."
I stared at him.
Two hundred thousand.
I couldn't imagine that amount.
Then Rebecca turned another page.
Her expression changed.
"Marcus, there's a second account listed here."
Dad leaned closer.
"What account?"
She pointed toward the bottom.
"Nicole Johnson Memorial Fund."
My breath caught.
Mom's name.
Again.
Rebecca continued.
"This appears to be a separate account designated for Maya's future education and medical needs."
Dad looked confused.
"I never authorized transfers from that fund."
Rebecca studied the document.
Then she asked a question that made Denise go completely pale.
"Why does this statement show a payment to Porter Family Holdings?"
Dad looked toward his wife.
"Porter?"
Denise's maiden name.
Rebecca continued.
"The payment was forty-two thousand dollars."
I stared at Denise.
Her lips trembled.
Rebecca looked up.
"And it's marked as an investment distribution."
Dad's voice became frighteningly quiet.
"Denise, what investment?"
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered something none of us expected.
"Elaine said the money would help us buy the house."
I looked around our beautiful kitchen.
The marble island.
The white cabinets.
The expensive appliances.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether the home I'd been living in had been partly purchased with money my mother left for me.
And I felt something inside me shatter.
