Chapter 6 - The Money Between Us
Margaret met us Monday morning.
Ethan and I postponed the first two days of our honeymoon.
He did not complain.
He did, however, insist we would still take the rest.
“Your family doesn’t get every day,” he said gently.
I needed to hear that.
Margaret’s office was small and bright, with a struggling fern beside the window.
She greeted Paige and me without surprise.
Then she placed a file on the desk.
“I want to separate what we know from what we suspect.”
I liked her immediately.
She had prepared Mom’s will.
She was not handling the ongoing estate administration because Vivian had hired another attorney after Mom died.
That part, Margaret explained, was not unusual.
What concerned her was that letters requesting our contact information had gone unanswered.
“She said we preferred communication through her,” I said.
Margaret looked up.
“Did you?”
“No.”
Paige shook her head too.
Margaret made a note.
Then she reviewed the documents we brought.
The will was straightforward.
The house was to be sold unless both sisters agreed otherwise.
The remaining estate was to be divided equally after legitimate expenses.
Any executor’s compensation had to be documented.
Any distribution needed a clear accounting.
“Have either of you received one?” she asked.
“No,” we said together.
She asked permission to contact the estate attorney.
We gave it.
Then she warned us against making public accusations before the records were reviewed.
“We want answers,” I said.
“Good. Answers are easier to obtain when everyone stays precise.”
The estate attorney responded that afternoon.
Apparently, he had been requesting supporting documents from Vivian for weeks.
He also seemed surprised to learn we had not received copies of correspondence.
By Wednesday, the first accounting arrived.
Paige called me from the hotel room where she was still staying.
“There are payments to me.”
“What?”
“Two distributions. Fifteen thousand each.”
I opened the attachment.
She was right.
Thirty thousand dollars listed beneath her name.
“I never got that money,” she said.
Her voice was rising.
“I know.”
“You don’t know. You have to check.”
“Paige.”
“Everybody always thinks—”
“I believe you.”
Silence.
Then I heard her begin to cry.
Not dramatically.
Not in a way designed to draw me closer.
Just relief, breaking through a place that had been clenched for years.
I sat on the edge of our hotel bed.
Ethan looked over.
I held up the phone and mouthed, Later.
Then I stayed with my sister until she could breathe.
There were other entries.
Household clearing expenses.
Property maintenance.
An advance described as reimbursable executor costs.
Some were probably legitimate.
Others needed receipts.
The thirty thousand dollars did not lead to Paige.
Bank documentation eventually showed payments to a home-renovation company owned by Vivian’s husband.
My uncle Martin had struggled after a failed commercial project.
Everyone knew that.
Nobody had told us Mom’s estate was helping him survive it.
Vivian requested a family meeting.
Margaret advised us to attend with counsel and keep the discussion focused on records.
This time, there would be no coffee-shop improvisation.
Vivian arrived looking offended.
“I can’t believe you’ve turned this into something ugly.”
Paige sat beside me.
I felt her foot move nervously beneath the table.
I put my hand flat on my own knee.
Not reaching to rescue.
Just reminding myself to stay.
Margaret began.
“We need an explanation for distributions recorded under Paige’s name that she did not receive.”
Vivian looked at my sister.
“You said you needed help.”
“I asked about my inheritance.”
“And I was managing everyone’s needs.”
“With money sent to Martin’s company?” I asked.
Vivian’s face tightened.
“It was temporary.”
The room went silent.
Margaret let it.
Finally, Vivian continued.
“We intended to replace it before the house sold.”
Paige stared at her.
“You told me Clara took everything.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I said Clara would be comfortable.”
“You said Mom trusted her more.”
Vivian looked toward me.
“Your sister was emotional. I was trying to avoid conflict.”
I thought of the white dress.
The unanswered calls.
The months we had spent aiming grief at each other because someone we trusted kept moving the target.
“You didn’t avoid conflict,” I said. “You kept it between us.”
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“Your mother would never have wanted you to destroy this family over money.”
May you like
For the first time, Paige answered before I could.
“Then you shouldn’t have used her death to take it.”
