Chapter 13: The Truth About Mom's Money
For the first time since Dad had come home the night before, Grandma Evelyn looked unsure.
Not angry.
Not suspicious.
Unsure.
She held Dad's phone with both hands and stared at the scanned authorization.
Rachel Bennett.
Mom's real signature.
Dad pulled out the chair beside her.
“Evelyn?””
Grandma didn't answer.
I looked between them.
“What are family medical expenses?””
Dad's eyes closed.
Grandma whispered, “Your mother's treatment.””
My stomach dropped.
“But you said the money was for college.””
“It was.””
“Then why did Mom use it?””
Grandma set the phone down carefully.
“Because cancer doesn't care what money was meant for.””
Dad sat.
The kitchen suddenly felt too quiet.
Madison remained across from me.
She didn't interrupt.
Dad rubbed both hands over his face.
“When Rachel got sick, we had insurance.””
Grandma nodded.
“But insurance didn't cover everything.””
“No.””
Dad looked at me.
“Your mom tried treatments that weren't fully covered. Specialists. Travel.
Medications. Home care near the end.””
I remembered fragments.
Hospital rooms.
Dad sleeping in chairs.
Grandma cooking in our kitchen.
Mom wearing scarves.
People whispering about bills when they thought I wasn't listening.
“How much?””
Dad looked at Grandma.
“I don't know.””
Grandma seemed to force herself back into motion.
“We need records.””
Dad called Naomi.
She answered immediately.
He put her on speaker.
“We saw the authorization.””
“I was about to call you.””
“Is Rachel's signature legitimate?””
“We can't conclusively authenticate a signature from a scan, but it appears consistent with the historical examples Harold reviewed.””
Grandma asked, “What is RSB Holdings?””
“That's where this gets complicated.””
Of course it did.
Naomi continued.
“Richard Shaw appears to have operated a financial-management company that handled medical-payment arrangements for several clients.””
Dad frowned.
“Legitimate?””
“At the time, apparently.””
“And Derek?””
“His son joined the business later.””
Grandma looked at Dad.
“So Rachel may actually have authorized those transfers.””
“Some of them,” Naomi said.
Dad caught the word.
“Some?””
“There were four transfers before Rachel died.””
“How much?””
“Just under sixty-two thousand dollars.””
Dad exhaled.
That was enormous.
But suddenly it wasn't theft.
It was Mom trying to stay alive.
I stared at the table.
Mom had spent money meant for my future trying to have one herself.
I didn't feel angry.
How could I?
I would've given every dollar if it meant one more birthday with her.
One more morning.
One more time hearing her say my name.
I whispered, “I would've wanted her to use it.””
Dad looked at me.
“I know.””
Grandma's eyes filled.
“So would I.””
Naomi continued.
“But the transfers didn't stop after Rachel died.””
The warmth disappeared.
Dad straightened.
“How long after?””
“Almost seven months.””
Grandma's face hardened.
“How much?””
“Approximately forty-three thousand dollars.””
Dad stood.
“And those weren't medical expenses.””
“No.””
“Who authorized them?””
“We're tracing that.””
Grandma asked, “Richard Shaw?””
“Possibly. But there's another issue.””
Naomi sent a file.
Dad opened it.
It was a letter.
The header belonged to RSB Holdings.
The date was six weeks after Mom died.
Dad read aloud:
“Per instructions received from surviving household representative…”
He stopped.
“What surviving household representative?””
Naomi said, “That's what we're trying to identify.””
Grandma's eyes narrowed.
Dad scrolled.
The letter authorized continued distributions from the old custodial account.
At the bottom were initials.
M.B.
Dad stared.
“My initials.””
Grandma leaned closer.
“Did you sign it?””
“No.””
I looked at him.
He didn't hesitate.
Not even for a second.
“I was barely functioning six weeks after Rachel died. Evelyn was handling meals. My brother was taking Zoe to school. I wasn't opening mail.””
Grandma nodded.
“He's telling the truth.””
Naomi said, “Nobody is accusing Marcus. We're establishing chronology.””
Madison asked quietly, “Could Lauren have done it?””
Dad looked at her.
“I hadn't met Lauren yet.””
Madison went silent.
That mattered.
For the first time, one piece of the missing money could not possibly be blamed on her.
Grandma stood.
“Richard Shaw.””
Dad looked at her.
“What?””
“He attended Rachel's funeral.””
I felt cold.
“How did he know Mom?””
Grandma's expression hardened.
“He handled part of her financial planning.””
Dad stared.
“I thought Rachel used someone named Richard.””
“She did.””
Dad slowly sat again.
“And his son is Lauren's adviser.””
Nobody spoke.
That connection was too strange.
Dad finally said it.
“You think Derek met Lauren through his father?””
Grandma looked at the phone.
“I think we need to stop guessing.””
Naomi agreed.
“Exactly.””
Dad asked, “Can Harold trace the post-death transfers?””
“He already is.””
“When will we know?””
“Soon.””
The call ended.
I went upstairs.
For the first time since everything began, I needed to be alone.
My room looked normal.
That bothered me.
Bed.
Desk.
Lamp.
School books.
Everything exactly where it had been while my entire understanding of my family collapsed downstairs.
I opened my closet.
At the back, beneath old blankets, was a photograph.
Mom and me.
I was seven.
She was kneeling beside me at a pumpkin patch.
I remembered almost nothing about that day.
But in the picture, we were laughing.
I sat on the floor.
“I would've given you the money.””
My voice sounded stupid in the empty room.
Still, I kept talking.
“All of it.””
Tears came.
“If somebody told you I was mad, they lied.””
The door creaked.
Dad stood there.
“Can I come in?””
I nodded.
He sat beside me on the floor.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then I handed him the photograph.
He smiled.
“You refused to touch the pumpkins because you thought there were spiders inside them.””
I laughed through my tears.
“Really?””
“Your mom told you pumpkins didn't come preloaded with spiders.””
I laughed harder.
Dad did too.
Then the laughter disappeared.
“Dad?””
“Yeah?””
“Did Mom know she was going to die?””
His face changed.
“Toward the end.””
“Was she scared?””
“Yes.””
I appreciated that he didn't lie.
“What was she scared of?””
Dad looked at me.
“Leaving you.””
My throat tightened.
“She made me promise something.””
“What?””
“That I wouldn't let grief turn our house into a museum.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“She wanted us to keep living.””
Dad looked around my room.
“But she also said keeping living didn't mean forgetting her.””
I thought about Lauren removing Mom's photographs.
About the letters Grandma had sent.
About all the times I'd been made to feel like loving Mom was somehow an insult to someone else.
Dad whispered, “I should've protected that better.””
I leaned against him.
“You didn't know.””
“I should've known more.””
That was probably the truth.
Both things could be true.
He hadn't known.
And he should have.
A knock came.
Madison stood in the doorway.
“Naomi called.””
Dad immediately stood.
“What happened?””
“She found the account.””
We rushed downstairs.
Grandma had Naomi on speaker.
Her face was furious.
Dad asked, “What account?””
Naomi answered.
“The destination of the post-death transfers.””
“Whose?””
“Richard Shaw's company.””
Dad exhaled.
“So he stole it.””
“There's more.””
Of course.
Naomi continued.
“RSB Holdings transferred part of that money into another account three months later.””
Grandma asked, “Whose?””
“Derek Shaw.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“So Derek's father stole from Rachel's account and passed money to his son.””
“That's what the records suggest.””
I asked, “What does Lauren have to do with it?””
A pause.
“Possibly more than we thought.””
Naomi sent another document.
It was an email from Derek.
Dated three years ago.
Before the forged property deed.
Before the boarding-school application.
The recipient was Lauren.
Dad read the subject line aloud.
“Bennett family account.””
Madison covered her mouth.
Dad opened it.
The message was short.
Found the old file we discussed. There may still be accessible funds attached to the daughter's name. Call me.
Dad looked at Lauren's empty chair.
Grandma whispered, “She knew.””
Dad's voice turned cold.
“She knew exactly where Zoe's money came from.””
Then another email arrived.
Lauren's reply.
May you like
Four words.
HOW MUCH CAN WE MOVE?
