Chapter 12 - My Mother’s Money
Detective Miller took us into an empty consultation room.
The moment the door shut, I asked the only question that mattered.
“How could he receive money that belonged to me?”
Miller placed photocopies on the table.
“Your mother, Emily, died in a commercial vehicle accident twenty-seven years ago.”
I nodded.
I knew that much.
“The trucking company settled a wrongful-death claim. Eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“Who filed it?”
“Richard.”
My stomach knotted.
“He was her husband.”
“Yes.”
“But you said I was named.”
“As a protected minor beneficiary.”
Judge Pendelton read the first page.
His face slowly hardened.
“Half the settlement was earmarked for Chloe under court supervision.”
“Four hundred thousand?”
“Yes,” Miller said.
“Where did it go?”
He pulled out another page.
“A custodial investment account.”
My hope lasted less than a second.
“Richard emptied it fourteen months later.”
I stared at him.
“He couldn’t.”
“He petitioned for hardship access.”
“What hardship?”
“Medical care, education, housing expenses.”
I laughed.
The sound came out broken.
“He abandoned me.”
Nobody answered.
I remembered Grandma picking me up from kindergarten.
Grandma sewing patches onto my jeans.
Grandma taking extra laundry shifts.
Grandma telling the electric company she would have the money Friday.
And somewhere, my father had told a court he needed my inheritance to care for me.
Miller continued.
“The court approved a limited withdrawal of thirty thousand dollars.”
“Limited.”
“Yes.”
“But he took everything.”
“Within eighteen months.”
Pendelton slammed his cane against the floor.
“How?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
I knew the answer before he said it.
“Forged documents?”
“Possibly.”
Eleanor leaned over the records.
“These signatures aren’t Margaret’s.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She pointed.
“Your grandmother was listed as secondary custodian.”
My breath caught.
“She never mentioned this.”
“She may not have known.”
Miller nodded.
“We believe Richard forged letters purporting to show Margaret approved additional withdrawals.”
The room tilted.
Grandma had spent years thinking she had failed to protect me.
Maybe Richard had stolen from both of us before either knew what he was capable of.
“What did he spend it on?”
Miller flipped another page.
“A real-estate partnership.”
Of course.
“Did he lose it?”
“Mostly.”
I closed my eyes.
My mother died.
My father turned her death into seed money.
Then failed.
Then disappeared.
Something inside me changed.
Until that moment, part of me had still viewed Richard’s greed as a disease of middle age.
Maybe he had become worse over time.
Maybe debt had warped him.
Maybe Susan had encouraged him.
Maybe disappointment had hardened him.
No.
This had begun decades ago.
Before Susan.
Before Northstar.
Before Grandma’s passbook.
Richard had always been Richard.
A knock sounded.
Tyler stepped into the room.
My nineteen-year-old half-brother looked nothing like the arrogant kid from the cemetery.
His face was pale.
His hair uncombed.
He wore yesterday’s hoodie.
Susan stood behind him.
“I told him,” she said.
“Told him what?”
“Everything.”
Tyler looked at me.
“I didn’t know.”
I said nothing.
“At the funeral,” he continued, voice rough, “I thought Dad was right. I thought Grandma hated him and left nothing. I thought you were just…”
“Just what?”
He swallowed.
“Bitter.”
The word hurt more than I expected.
He looked at the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
I could have attacked him.
Part of me wanted to.
Instead I asked, “Why are you here?”
Tyler reached into his backpack.
Detective Miller immediately raised a hand.
“Slowly.”
Tyler froze.
“Okay.”
“What are you removing?”
“A laptop.”
“Whose?”
“My dad’s.”
The room became silent.
Susan stared at her son.
“You told me you didn’t have that.”
“I lied.”
“Tyler!”
“I was scared!”
He placed the laptop carefully on the table.
“Dad gave it to me yesterday morning before he went downtown. He said if anything went wrong, I should wipe it.”
Miller put on gloves.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Tyler looked at me.
“Because last night I opened it.”
His hands trembled.
“There’s a folder with Chloe’s name.”
My skin went cold.
“What’s in it?”
Tyler shook his head.
“I only looked at three files.”
“And?”
“One is a copy of your driver’s license.”
“Okay.”
“One is a map showing where you work.”
I stopped breathing.
“And the third?”
Tyler’s eyes filled.
“A photograph of your car.”
He paused.
“There’s handwriting underneath.”
Miller leaned forward.
“What does it say?”
May you like
Tyler looked directly at me.
“Accidents are easier than lawsuits.”
