Chapter 7: The Inheritance Nobody Told Me About
For several seconds, Dad looked as though Rebecca had slapped him.
“My mother left money to Emily?”” he repeated.
Rebecca stood beside the office door, breathing unevenly. Madison hovered behind her, staring at the floor. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of Dad's laptop.
“Yes,” Rebecca whispered.
“Your mother wanted to make sure Emily would be taken care of.””
I shook my head.
“Grandma never told me that.””
“She didn't tell you because you were too young,” Dad said slowly.
“She died when you were twelve.””
I remembered Grandma Helen's last Christmas with us. She had sat beside me on the sofa, helping me untangle the ribbon on a present. Her hands had been thin and trembling, but she had smiled when I told her I wanted to go to college.
Never let anyone convince you that you have to earn the right to dream, sweetheart.
At the time, I'd thought she was simply being kind.
Now I wondered whether she'd known something I hadn't.
Dad pulled out his phone and searched his old emails.
“Mother's estate was settled five years ago,” he said.
“Michael claimed the money had been divided according to her will. The attorney sent us copies of the final documents.””
Rebecca swallowed.
“Those documents weren't complete.””
Dad looked up sharply.
“What?””
“Your mother changed her will shortly before she died.””
“Then why wasn't the new will filed?””
Rebecca didn't answer.
Dad rose from his chair.
“Where are the original documents?””
“I don't have them anymore.””
“That's a lie.””
Her eyes flashed.
“You don't get to accuse me of lying every time I don't have the answer you want.””
“You just admitted that my mother left money to my daughter, and you've spent the evening explaining how you moved that daughter's money into accounts I never authorized.””
“I was trying to protect the inheritance!””
“By spending it?””
Rebecca pressed her palms against her temples.
“You don't understand. Michael was threatening to expose everything.””
“Expose what?””
She stared at the carpet.
Dad waited.
Finally, she whispered, “The second account.””
“What second account?””
“The one your mother opened.””
Dad gripped the back of his chair.
“Tell me everything.””
Rebecca sat down, looking suddenly exhausted.
“Your mother opened a separate investment account about a year before she died. She put a substantial amount of money into it and named Emily as the beneficiary.””
I felt my throat tighten.
“How much money?””
Rebecca looked at me.
“Two hundred and forty thousand dollars.””
I stared at her.
The number seemed too large to belong to my life. I'd been counting tips and saving five-dollar bills, worrying about whether I could afford textbooks, while an inheritance large enough to change everything had apparently existed somewhere beyond my knowledge.
Dad shook his head.
“That account was never mentioned in the estate settlement.””
“Because Michael discovered it after your mother died,” Rebecca said.
“He believed he was entitled to part of it.””
“Why?””
“Because he was her son.””
“And Emily was her granddaughter.””
“Exactly. Your mother wanted the money protected for Emily's education and future. Michael thought she had made a mistake.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“So you helped him hide it?””
“No! I was trying to negotiate.””
“By taking Emily's college savings?””
Rebecca began crying again.
“Michael told me the original account had been closed. He said the money had been transferred into a trust, and he needed funds to recover it.””
Dad stared at her.
“You believed him?””
“He showed me documents.””
“Where are they?””
“In the safe.””
Dad immediately crossed the office and opened the small safe built into the closet wall. He kept property deeds, passports, and insurance documents inside.
He pulled out the folder containing our family's most important papers.
Then he stopped.
Several folders were missing.
“Rebecca,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet, “where are the estate documents I kept in here?””
She looked at the open safe.
“I don't know.””
“You were the only other person with the combination.””
“I told you, I don't know!””
Dad turned toward me.
“Emily, go get your graduation paperwork from your room. I want to make sure nothing else is missing.””
I started toward the hallway, but Rebecca stepped into my path.
“You don't need to involve the children in this.””
Dad moved between us.
“Move.””
She hesitated, then stepped aside.
I hurried upstairs.
My bedroom still smelled of paint. The ruined dress lay across a plastic sheet Dad had spread over the carpet. I opened my desk drawer and checked the envelope where I'd kept my college acceptance letter, scholarship paperwork, and account statements.
Everything was there except one document.
The letter from Grandma Helen.
I'd kept it folded inside my acceptance folder for years. It was the last handwritten note she'd ever given me, and I read it whenever I felt uncertain about my future.
I searched the drawer twice.
Then I checked beneath the mattress, inside my school bag, and between the pages of my yearbook.
Nothing.
I ran downstairs with my heart pounding.
“Dad, Grandma's letter is missing.””
He turned from the desk.
“What letter?””
“The one she gave me before she died. It was in my college folder.””
Rebecca looked up.
For a fraction of a second, her face revealed something that wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
Dad noticed.
“Rebecca,” he said slowly, “what do you know about that letter?””
“Nothing.””
“Then why did you react when Emily mentioned it?””
“I didn't.””
I stared at her.
“You knew Grandma left me something.””
Rebecca's eyes narrowed.
“Don't start imagining things.””
Dad stepped toward her.
“Enough. You're going to tell us where the missing documents are, and you're going to tell us what happened to that inheritance.””
She looked at him, then at me.
Finally, she whispered, “Your grandmother's letter wasn't just a letter.””
“What does that mean?”” I asked.
Rebecca's hands trembled.
“It contained the name of the attorney who handled the second account.””
Dad's expression changed.
“And you took it?””
She didn't answer.
Dad reached for his phone.
“Then tomorrow morning, we'll speak to that attorney.””
Rebecca suddenly grabbed his wrist.
“You can't.””
“Why?””
Her voice broke.
“Because he's already dead.””
And when Dad asked how she knew, she gave him a name that made him stop breathing.
May you like
“Robert Hayes,” she whispered.
“The same attorney you're planning to meet tomorrow.””
