Chapter 2: The $500 Allowance
At 6:42 p.m., Trevor walked into the kitchen smiling.
He tossed his car keys onto the counter and opened the refrigerator.
“Well,” he said, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water.
“Looks like you survived the day.””
I was sitting at the kitchen island, feeding June mashed sweet potatoes.
I didn't answer.
He took a sip.
“See? You don't need unlimited access to my money.””
I wiped sweet potato from June's chin.
“Your money?””
Trevor turned.
“Excuse me?””
“Nothing.””
He laughed and pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket.
He dropped it beside my plate.
“Starting tomorrow, you get five hundred dollars a month. That's your household allowance.””
I looked at the paper.
It was a handwritten budget.
$200 for groceries.
$100 for personal expenses.
$100 for June's miscellaneous needs.
$100 for transportation.
I read it twice.
“Trevor, diapers and formula alone cost more than that.””
“Then shop smarter.””
“What about her pediatrician appointments?””
“Bring me the receipts. I'll decide what's necessary.””
I slowly put down June's spoon.
“She has a follow-up appointment next week.””
“Then send me the bill.””
“Her doctor recommended additional testing.””
Trevor rolled his eyes.
“Doctors recommend things because they make money. I'm not paying for unnecessary procedures.””
I stared at the man sitting across from me.
This was the same man who'd cried when June was born.
The same man who'd promised to protect us.
Now he was calculating whether his eight-month-old daughter deserved medical care.
Before I could respond, the kitchen door swung open.
Darlene walked in carrying a designer handbag.
She didn't bother greeting me.
“Trevor, did you finally handle the credit card situation?””
“Yes, Mom.””
“Good. I told you that girl needed discipline.””
She glanced at the paper.
“Oh, five hundred dollars? That's generous.””
I looked at her.
“Generous?””
Darlene pulled out a chair.
“Women used to manage entire households without demanding thousands of dollars from their husbands. You're lucky my son is patient.””
“Your son froze the money I use to buy his daughter's food.””
Darlene waved her hand.
“Don't start with that poor-mother routine. You have a roof over your head, don't you?””
Trevor chuckled.
“Mom, leave it. She's still adjusting.””
Darlene leaned toward me.
“No, Trevor. Someone needs to tell her the truth. She hasn't contributed anything to this family since she quit her job.””
I looked at her expensive handbag.
“Who paid for that?””
Her smile disappeared.
“What?””
“That handbag. Who paid for it?””
Darlene straightened.
“My son bought it.””
“And the country club membership? The new SUV? The renovation at your house?””
Trevor's expression hardened.
“Corinne. Enough.””
I returned my attention to June.
Darlene stood.
“You're getting too comfortable asking questions about money that doesn't belong to you.””
Then she pointed at the handwritten budget.
“Sign it.””
I looked at the paper.
“I'm not signing that.””
Trevor slammed his palm against the island.
“Don't test me.””
June startled and began crying.
I immediately lifted her from the high chair.
“Don't shout around her.””
He stepped closer.
“Then stop acting like a spoiled child.””
I carried June upstairs without another word.
Behind me, Darlene called out.
“See? She can't even have an adult conversation!””
I closed the nursery door.
For several minutes, I rocked June beside her crib until she fell asleep.
Then I sat in the rocking chair and opened my laptop.
Ellis had sent me a secure link to the trust documents.
I expected to see a balance large enough to provide financial security.
Instead, I found something much bigger.
My father had established Bascombe Family Holdings, a private investment trust with controlling interests in several commercial properties and lending institutions.
The assets were worth considerably more than I'd imagined.
But one document caught my attention.
A funding agreement dated six years earlier.
The same year Trevor founded Bascombe Commercial Builders.
I opened it.
The agreement showed that my father's trust had provided Trevor's company with its initial financing.
Not a small business loan.
A revolving credit facility worth $12 million.
My hands went cold.
I scrolled further.
There was a personal guarantee attached to the original agreement.
My father's signature appeared at the bottom.
Then I found another document.
A corporate restructuring agreement.
Trevor's company had been allowed to expand because the trust had repeatedly extended its financing.
Every major project he'd bragged about had depended on that relationship.
And he had never told me.
I called Ellis.
“Why didn't my father tell me about this?””
“Your father wanted you to have an independent life, Mrs. Bascombe. He didn't want financial matters to influence your marriage.””
“Does Trevor know who owns the trust?””
“He knows the lending institution. I don't believe he knows who controls the beneficial interest.””
I stared at the screen.
“So he has been borrowing money from my family for six years while telling everyone he built everything himself?””
Ellis hesitated.
“There's something else.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?””
“We found unusual transfers from your husband's company to a private account.””
“How much?””
“Approximately $2.3 million over fourteen months.””
I felt my stomach twist.
“Whose account?””
Ellis paused.
“Your mother-in-law's.””
I looked toward the nursery door.
Then my laptop chimed.
A new document had arrived.
It was a loan guarantee carrying my signature.
May you like
Except I'd never signed it.
And the amount attached to it was six million dollars.
