Chapter 2
Dad recovered quickly.
“Not here,” he said, glancing at the women seated around Madison’s table. “Whatever story you’ve brought, Marcus, you can tell it somewhere else.”
Marcus held the broken bowl in its wrapping paper. “Sarah’s leaving with me.”
“Of course she is,” Madison snapped. “You both need to go.”
I walked between them before they could argue further. My legs felt unsteady, but I kept moving until I reached the doors.
Outside, the air was cool. Marcus opened the passenger door of his truck. I sat down and pressed my palm against my cheek.
He stayed beside the open door.
“I should have come in sooner,” he said.
“You asked. I said I could handle it.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “You did handle it.”
I gave a weak laugh. “I moved a cake.”
“You told her why.”
The club doors opened again. Dad came out alone, carrying his phone.
“Sarah,” he said. “Get in my car.”
“I’m going home with Marcus.”
Dad’s eyes shifted to my brother. “You have no idea what he’s told you.”
“Then tell me yourself.”
He stepped closer. “Your grandmother left a trust to help you with medical expenses. Marcus accused me of taking money from it. He was wrong.”
I had heard his version before. It was the reason I had stopped answering Marcus’s calls five years ago.
Marcus went to the back seat and took out a plain folder.
“Then you won’t mind showing her the accounts,” he said.
Dad did not take the folder.
“I’m not discussing private finances on a curb.”
“Sarah’s finances,” Marcus replied.
I turned to him. “What accounts?”
He opened the folder to a page covered with dates and amounts. I recognized our grandmother’s name at the top. Below it were transfers I could not understand.
“Grandma Joan left you money for treatment and living costs if you ever needed it,” Marcus said. “Dad was the trustee.”
My stomach tightened. During my first hospital stay, I had asked Dad if the trust could help. He told me Grandma’s savings had gone toward her care before she died.
I still owed the hospital thousands of dollars.
“How much?” I asked.
Marcus swallowed. “I’m working on an exact figure.”
Dad shook his head. “This is why I wanted him away from you. He shows you a page without explaining what it means.”
“Then explain the transfer to Bellweather Events,” Marcus said.
Dad’s face changed.
Bellweather was the company arranging Madison’s wedding.
I looked at him. “Did money from Grandma’s trust pay for her wedding?”
“No,” he said.
Marcus held the page up. “This transfer was made last month.”
“Marcus.” Dad’s voice dropped. “You know how serious this accusation is.”
“Yes. I do.”
For a moment I expected Dad to take the folder and show me where Marcus had misunderstood. Instead, he put his phone away and pointed at me.
“Sarah, if you leave with him, don’t come asking me to fix things when his story falls apart.”
I got into the truck.
Marcus shut my door and walked around to the driver’s side. Dad remained on the curb as we pulled away.
At the first traffic light, I asked Marcus to tell me everything.
He had found the first transfer while helping Grandma organize her papers years earlier. She had been ill and had asked him to check that the trust could cover my treatment if I ever needed it. Dad was supposed to send him the yearly statements, but stopped.
After Grandma died, Marcus asked again. Dad told him he was interfering.
“I thought I had enough proof back then,” Marcus said. “I didn’t. He controlled all the records I could see.”
“So why now?”
“Grandma’s old attorney retired. Her files were transferred to another firm, and they contacted me because she’d named me as a backup trustee if Dad couldn’t serve. I asked for copies of the original trust.”
I looked down at my hands. They were dusted white from the bowl.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried when you were in the hospital. You didn’t want me there.”
He said it gently, which made it worse. I remembered telling a nurse not to let him into my room. Dad had just visited and said Marcus wanted money.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know why you believed Dad.”
I wanted to tell Marcus that I should have known better. But five years of silence could not be repaired in a truck at a traffic light.
He drove me to my apartment and carried the broken bowl upstairs.
My apartment was small. On the kitchen counter sat three medical bills I had been trying to sort before Madison’s shower. Marcus noticed them but said nothing.
I made tea while he spread the papers on my table.
Grandma’s trust agreement was there. I read the part naming me as beneficiary twice. The money had been set aside for my health and support. It was more than enough to cover the bills on my counter.
“Can we get it back?” I asked.
“I’ve spoken to a lawyer. She thinks we can ask the court to freeze what’s left while the accounts are examined.”
“What’s left?”
Marcus looked at the page rather than at me. “I don’t know yet.”
My phone rang. Mother.
I let it go to voicemail. A minute later, Madison sent a photograph of the cake tier sitting on her table.
You humiliated me in front of everyone.
I showed Marcus.
“She hit you,” he said.
Madison had no idea how often I had heard that sentence in my head without saying it aloud.
Another message arrived, this one from an unknown number.
Mrs. Price would like to speak with you about what happened at the club. I’m her assistant. Please call when you’re ready.
“Who’s Mrs. Price?” I asked.
Marcus recognized the name. “Evelyn Price. She chairs the club board.”
I thought of the manager watching beside the bar. Someone had finally told a person who could do something.
Before I could reply, my mother called again.
May you like
This time I answered.
“Sarah,” she said, her voice thin. “I need you to come to the house tonight. There’s something your father hasn’t told you.”
