Chapter 4
I didn't sleep that Christmas night.
The house was quiet.
The decorations were still glowing.
The tree stood beside the living room window, covered with ornaments Arthur had collected over thirty years.
But nothing felt festive.
My cheek still hurt.
My heart hurt worse.
And every time I closed my eyes, I heard Camille's voice.
Someone in the family had been hiding transfers.
For years.
I sat alone in Arthur's old study.
His portrait rested on the desk beside me.
I stared at his smile.
"Dad, why didn't you tell me?"
Of course, he didn't answer.
That was the cruelest part.
The one person who could explain everything was gone.
I wanted to remember him as the father who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who attended every school performance.
The man who called me sunshine when I was little.
But now I had to face the possibility that he'd allowed Evelyn to hurt me because confronting her was easier to avoid than telling the truth.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
Are you still awake?
I stared at it.
Then typed.
Yes.
A minute later, he knocked on the study door.
"Can I come in?"
I hesitated.
Then answered.
"Okay."
He stepped inside wearing the same navy sweater.
He looked exhausted.
He held two mugs of tea.
I almost smiled.
Arthur used to make tea whenever I was upset.
Marcus placed a mug beside me.
"I thought you might want this."
"Thanks."
He sat across from me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at Arthur's photograph.
"I didn't know."
I stared at him.
"About what?"
"The money. Grace. Any of it."
I nodded.
He swallowed.
"But I knew Mom treated you differently."
My chest tightened.
He continued.
"I saw things. I heard things."
I looked down.
"And I told myself she didn't mean them."
I nodded again.
"Because it was easier."
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
I appreciated the honesty.
But it still hurt.
Marcus leaned forward.
"When we were kids, Dad always told me to look after you."
I looked up.
"I remember."
"I thought that meant protecting you from boys at school and making sure you got home safely."
He shook his head.
"I never realized the person hurting you most was sitting at our dinner table."
My eyes filled.
"You realized enough to tell me to ignore it."
He looked ashamed.
"I know."
I took a slow breath.
"I don't need you to hate your mother."
He nodded.
"But I need you to stop pretending she didn't hurt me."
He looked directly into my eyes.
"I will."
For the first time in years, I believed him.
The next morning, we met Camille at her office.
Evelyn refused to come.
She claimed she was too grief-stricken to discuss legal matters.
But she sent Marcus six messages before we arrived.
Each one warned him not to trust me.
He didn't answer.
Camille greeted us warmly.
She was a Black woman in her fifties with silver-rimmed glasses and a calm voice.
She asked whether I wanted water.
I shook my head.
"I want the truth."
She nodded.
"Then let's begin with the documents."
She placed several folders on the table.
The first contained Arthur's will.
The second contained the trust amendment.
The third held records connected to my mother's estate.
Camille explained that Arthur had signed the will while he was still capable of making his own decisions.
The attorney had documented the process.
There were witnesses.
There were records of his instructions.
Evelyn could challenge the will if she wished.
But the document wasn't invalid merely because she disliked its terms.
I exhaled.
Then Camille opened the next folder.
"Arthur came to me because he discovered something troubling."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She showed me a bank statement.
The account had belonged to a trust created after Lorraine's death.
I stared at the numbers.
I didn't recognize the institution.
I didn't recognize the transactions.
But I recognized my name.
NIA BENNETT.
Camille explained that my mother's estate planning documents had set aside money for my benefit.
Arthur had been responsible for administering part of it while I was a minor.
Some funds were used for my care.
Others were supposed to remain protected.
But years earlier, significant sums had been moved into accounts that later helped purchase and improve the family home.
Marcus leaned forward.
"Did Dad do that?"
Camille paused.
"Arthur acknowledged authorizing some transfers. He also believed certain later transactions happened without his informed approval."
I felt my chest tighten.
"So he knew?"
Camille looked at me gently.
"He understood more toward the end of his life than he had allowed himself to confront earlier."
That answer hurt.
Because it meant my father had not been innocent.
He had made choices.
Some wrong.
Some cowardly.
Some impossible to undo.
I wiped my eyes.
"Did he try to fix it?"
Camille nodded.
"Yes."
She explained that Arthur had directed her to review the records, document his concerns, and prepare estate arrangements intended to address what could be established.
The house had been placed in my name through his estate plan, subject to proper administration.
Grace Holloway was also named as a beneficiary.
Marcus frowned.
"Why Grace?"
Camille opened another file.
"Because Arthur believed Grace had suffered financial harm when she tried to protect Lorraine's wishes."
I stared at her.
"What financial harm?"
Camille took a breath.
"Grace paid legal fees and other expenses years ago while trying to obtain information about Nia's inheritance."
My heart broke.
Aunt Grace hadn't abandoned me.
She had fought for me.
And nobody told me.
Camille continued.
"Arthur wanted to compensate her from the assets he could lawfully direct."
I looked down.
For years, I had imagined Grace forgetting my birthday.
Ignoring my letters.
Choosing a life without me.
Now I learned she'd spent money trying to remain in my life.
I felt sick.
"Where is she?"
Camille smiled gently.
"Still in Georgia."
My heart began pounding.
"Do you have her number?"
"Yes."
I covered my mouth.
For twenty-four years, I'd believed my mother's sister wanted nothing to do with me.
Now she was one phone call away.
But before Camille gave me the number, she opened the final folder.
"There's one more matter."
Marcus leaned forward.
"What?"
Camille showed us a series of bank records.
"Arthur believed Evelyn had access to an account receiving funds that may have originated from the trust."
I stared at the statements.
Then at Marcus.
His face went pale.
Camille continued.
"Some transactions require further investigation. I don't want to make accusations before the records are fully examined."
I nodded.
Then she pointed toward a transfer.
The recipient account carried Evelyn's name.
May you like
The amount was forty-eight thousand dollars.
And the date was three months before Arthur died.
