Chapter 2: The Money They Said Didn't Exist
I read the email three times.
Then I read it a fourth.
The words didn't change.
*Education Trust Distribution and Account Closure.*
*Beneficiary: Trevor Holloway.*
*Total Distribution: $186,400.*
I sat in my car outside the university, the diploma on the passenger seat and my graduation gown bunched around my waist.
My first thought was that it had to be a mistake.
My second thought was that someone had stolen my identity.
My third thought was much worse.
My family had been telling me for years that there was no money for my education.
And now I was looking at a document suggesting that nearly two hundred thousand dollars had been set aside for someone in my family.
Someone who wasn't me.
I clicked the attachment.
It was a statement from First National Trust.
The account had been established when I was six years old.
The original beneficiary designation listed:
*Paige Marie Holloway.*
I stopped moving.
There was my name.
My full name.
Below it was a section titled "Amended Beneficiary Instructions.""
The amendment had been filed when I was nineteen.
The new beneficiary was Trevor Holloway.
The authorization carried two signatures.
My father's.
And mine.
I zoomed in.
The signature looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Because it was mine.
But I had never signed anything transferring $186,400 to Trevor.
My hands started shaking.
I called the bank.
After twenty minutes of being transferred between departments, a woman named Melissa answered.
"Thank you for calling First National Trust. My name is Melissa. How may I help you?""
I gave her the account number.
"I received a notice about an education trust. I need to understand why my name was removed as beneficiary.""
There was a pause.
"May I verify your identity?""
I answered her questions.
She typed.
Then she went quiet.
"Miss Holloway, I can see the account history.""
"Can you tell me who authorized the transfer?""
"I can tell you that the beneficiary amendment was processed on March fourteenth, four years ago.""
"Was I present?""
"According to our records, the amendment was submitted through your father's authorized representative.""
"That doesn't answer my question.""
"I'm sorry. The file indicates a signed beneficiary change.""
"I didn't sign it.""
Another pause.
"Miss Holloway, I'm not able to determine that over the phone.""
"Can you send me the original documents?""
"Some of the documents may require a formal records request.""
"Then tell me how to submit one.""
She explained the procedure.
Before ending the call, I asked one more question.
"Was this account originally established for my college education?""
Melissa hesitated.
"According to the account's original purpose statement, yes.""
My throat tightened.
"Thank you.""
I hung up.
For several minutes, I couldn't even start the car.
I remembered being seventeen and asking my parents whether I could attend a private university.
Dad had shaken his head.
"Paige, we're not made of money.""
Mom had patted my hand.
"Trevor's business plans have to come first right now. Maybe you can start at community college.""
I remembered working two jobs during my first year.
I remembered eating instant noodles because I couldn't afford the campus meal plan.
I remembered calling Dad after my scholarship application was rejected.
He'd said, "That's life, sweetheart. You have to learn to make things work.""
Meanwhile, someone had apparently been sitting on nearly two hundred thousand dollars intended for me.
My phone rang.
Dad.
I watched his name flash across the screen.
I answered.
"Paige?""
His voice was sharp.
"What did you do?""
I stared through the windshield.
"Hello to you, too.""
"Your mother says you called the bank.""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
"Because I received a notice about an education trust with my name on it.""
Silence.
Then he sighed.
"That's old paperwork.""
"Old paperwork with $186,400 in it?""
"Don't exaggerate.""
"I'm reading the statement.""
"That money was family money.""
"The original beneficiary was me.""
"Trevor needed it more.""
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I couldn't believe he had said it so easily.
"More than I needed an education?""
"Trevor had an opportunity. He had a business to build.""
"I had tuition to pay.""
"You got through college, didn't you?""
I looked at my diploma.
"By working full-time.""
"And you should be proud of that.""
"Don't tell me to be proud while you're explaining why you took my education money.""
His voice hardened.
"We did what was best for the family.""
"No. You did what was best for Trevor.""
"That's enough.""
"No, Dad. It isn't.""
He lowered his voice.
"Your brother has responsibilities. Employees. Investors.
A future. You had a part-time job and some classes.""
I gripped the steering wheel.
"Those classes earned me a degree with honors.""
"Don't make this about your ego.""
Then he hung up.
I sat there until my phone screen went dark.
That evening, I went to Hannah's apartment.
She opened the door wearing sweatpants and holding a bowl of popcorn.
"Paige?""
I walked inside.
She took one look at my face.
"What happened?""
I placed the trust statement on her kitchen table.
She read it.
Then she read it again.
"Wait. They transferred your education fund to Trevor?""
"Apparently.""
"One hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars?""
"Yes.""
"How?""
"I don't know.""
She pulled out a chair.
"Sit down.""
I sat.
She made tea.
Then she opened her laptop and helped me organize the documents.
We created folders.
Original trust.
Beneficiary amendment.
Bank correspondence.
Tuition records.
My father's emails.
At first, I felt ridiculous.
Like I was preparing for a fight I didn't know how to have.
But Hannah kept going.
"Paige, this isn't just about the money.""
"I know.""
"Do you?""
She turned the laptop toward me.
"Look at this.""
She had compared the dates of the trust amendment with my college records.
The amendment had been filed three days after I told my parents I'd received a partial scholarship to Westbridge.
Three days.
I remembered that week.
I'd been excited.
I'd called Mom during my lunch break.
She'd said she was happy for me.
Then she'd asked whether I could lend Trevor $2,000 for his business.
I'd refused because I needed the money for textbooks.
She hadn't spoken to me for nine days.
Now I wondered whether she'd already known what was happening.
Hannah leaned back.
"Did you ever sign anything for your dad?""
"Yes.""
"What?""
"Some family financial paperwork. He said it was for Trevor's business.""
"Did you read it?""
I stared at the table.
"No.""
"Paige.""
"I know.""
She reached across and squeezed my hand.
"We're going to find out exactly what happened.""
The next morning, I went to the bank's local branch.
A records specialist named Daniel met me in a small office.
He was in his fifties, with a neatly pressed shirt and a habit of adjusting his glasses whenever he read something important.
I showed him my identification and the email.
He examined the screen.
"You're listed as the original beneficiary.""
"Yes.""
"And the amendment was processed four years ago.""
"Yes.""
He pulled up another document.
"There's something else.""
My stomach tightened.
"What?""
"The original trust included a provision that required the beneficiary's informed consent for any permanent change of designation after the beneficiary turned eighteen.""
I stared at him.
"So I had to agree?""
"That's what this provision says.""
"Then why did the bank accept the change?""
Daniel adjusted his glasses.
"Because the submission included a signed consent form.""
He turned the monitor toward me.
There it was.
My name.
My signature.
And beneath it, a sentence:
*I voluntarily waive all future claims to the education trust and authorize the full transfer of its assets to Trevor Holloway.*
I felt sick.
"I never signed this.""
Daniel looked at me carefully.
"Are you certain?""
"Absolutely.""
He studied the document again.
"Then you should consider having the signature examined.""
I leaned forward.
"Can you give me a copy?""
"Yes. You'll need to submit a formal request, but I can provide the application today.""
He printed several pages.
As I gathered them, he hesitated.
"Miss Holloway?""
"Yes?""
"There's another document in the file.""
"What document?""
"A handwritten letter attached to the original trust amendment.""
He clicked.
A scanned page appeared.
It was dated the same day as the amendment.
The letter began:
*To the trustees,*
*I understand that Paige has agreed to redirect the education trust to her brother, Trevor, because she no longer intends to pursue a university degree.*
I stopped breathing.
"I never said that.""
Daniel nodded slowly.
"I understand.""
The letter continued.
*She has chosen to support Trevor's future instead of continuing her own education. The family believes this is the most responsible use of the funds.*
At the bottom was my mother's signature.
I stared at it.
My mother hadn't simply allowed my education money to disappear.
She had written a letter explaining why I supposedly didn't need it.
I felt something hot rise behind my eyes.
"Can I have a copy of this, too?""
"Of course.""
I walked out of the bank carrying a folder that weighed almost nothing.
But somehow, it felt heavier than my entire college degree.
I called Mom.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"Paige, I'm busy.""
"I saw your letter.""
Silence.
"What letter?""
"The one you sent to First National Trust. The one saying I didn't want to go to college anymore.""
Mom exhaled.
"Oh, that.""
"That?""
"Your father explained the situation.""
"You signed it.""
"Paige, please don't turn this into something ugly.""
"Did you know the trust was mine?""
"Of course.""
"Did you know Trevor received all of it?""
"Yes.""
"Then why did you tell the bank I wanted to give it to him?""
Her voice grew irritated.
"Because Trevor needed the opportunity.""
"And I didn't?""
"You were always going to be fine.""
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
That familiar sentence.
You were always going to be fine.
The explanation for every birthday forgotten, every promise broken, every sacrifice demanded.
I spoke quietly.
"Mom, did you ever consider asking me?""
She didn't answer.
Then she said something that made my stomach turn.
"Your brother was going to pay the family back eventually.""
"With my money?""
"Don't be selfish.""
I ended the call.
A few minutes later, my email notification appeared.
It was from the trust department.
The subject line read:
*ADDITIONAL DOCUMENTATION REQUESTED — BENEFICIARY DISPUTE.*
I opened it.
There was one final attachment.
A copy of the original trust's funding history.
And beside the initial deposit, I saw a name I had never expected.
*Margaret Holloway.*
My grandmother.
The woman my parents had told me died without leaving anything behind.
May you like
Except apparently, she had left me $186,400.
And she had written one very specific instruction.
