Chapter 4: Three Weeks Before He Died
The message stayed on my screen long after the phone stopped vibrating.
*Ask your mother what happened three weeks before Daniel died.*
I read it until the words blurred.
Three weeks before my father died, $84,000 had been transferred from an education trust bearing his name. Three years after his death, somebody had signed a document pretending to be him. And now someone was warning me that Richard, the man listed as trustee, might not be the person responsible.
I looked across the kitchen at Brianna.
"Did you know about the transfer?""
She shook her head.
"No.""
"Did you know about the fake signature?""
"No, Mia. I swear.""
"Then why did you take this document from Mom's handbag?""
Brianna rubbed her arms as though she were cold.
"Because I heard them arguing last night. Mom said she needed to make sure you never saw the original papers. Richard told her that if you discovered the money was missing, he couldn't protect her anymore.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Protect her from what?""
"I don't know.""
"You keep saying that.""
"Because it's true!"" Brianna's voice cracked.
"You think I understand everything that happens in this house? I'm not allowed to ask questions. I'm just supposed to do what Mom tells me.""
For once, she didn't sound angry.
She sounded exhausted.
I studied the document again. The copied signature was convincing, but the date made it impossible. My father had been dead for two years when someone supposedly authorized the amendment.
"Where's the original?""
"I don't know.""
"Where's the envelope from Richard's workbench?""
"I don't know that either.""
I leaned back in my chair.
"Then we need someone who does.""
Brianna frowned.
"Who?""
I took out my phone and opened the old email from my father. Beneath his message was the name of the law firm that had prepared the trust.
*Morrison, Hale & Pierce.*
A quick search showed that the firm still existed in the next town over.
I found a telephone number.
Before I could call, Brianna grabbed my wrist.
"Don't.""
I looked at her hand.
She released me immediately.
"Please, Mia. Just wait until tomorrow.""
"Why?""
"Because Mom said something about the eighteenth. She said the trust would become accessible, but only if the beneficiary completed some kind of verification. She was afraid you would go straight to the lawyers.""
I stared at her.
"How do you know that?""
"I heard her talking to Richard.""
"Then why are you asking me to wait?""
Brianna's eyes filled with tears again.
"Because I think Mom has done something she can't undo.""
I wanted to believe that she was finally trying to help me.
But trust was a strange thing. Once broken, it didn't return simply because someone looked frightened.
I pulled my hand away and dialed the law firm.
A receptionist answered after three rings.
"Good morning, Morrison, Hale & Pierce. How may I direct your call?""
"My name is Mia Hart. My father was Daniel Hart. He established an education trust for me before he died, and I need to speak to someone about it.""
There was a pause.
"Could you spell your surname, please?""
I did.
The receptionist's tone changed.
"One moment, Miss Hart.""
I heard typing.
Then another pause.
"I'm going to transfer you to Mr. Morrison's office. Please hold.""
Soft instrumental music played through the speaker.
Brianna stood beside the kitchen counter, watching me with wide eyes.
After nearly a minute, a man answered.
"Miss Hart? This is Thomas Morrison.""
"I'm trying to find out what happened to my father's trust.""
Silence.
Then he said, "How did you learn about the trust?""
"My father emailed me before he died. I found the beneficiary statement this morning.""
"Do you have the document in front of you?""
"Yes.""
"Does it identify me as the original attorney?""
I checked the first page.
"Yes. Thomas Morrison.""
He exhaled slowly.
"All right. I need you to listen carefully. I cannot discuss confidential records over the phone until I verify your identity. But I can tell you that your father's estate file contains several unresolved matters.""
My pulse quickened.
"What unresolved matters?""
"I'm afraid I can't provide those details yet.""
"Was $84,000 transferred out of the trust three weeks before he died?""
The silence that followed was different.
Longer.
More deliberate.
"Who told you that figure?"" he asked.
"I found a document.""
"Where?""
"At home.""
"Was it an original bank statement?""
"No. It was a torn piece of paper.""
Another pause.
Then Mr. Morrison lowered his voice.
"Miss Hart, I strongly recommend that you bring any documents you have to my office. Do not sign anything concerning the trust until we have reviewed the original records.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Is someone trying to take my inheritance?""
"I cannot responsibly make that conclusion without reviewing the file.""
"But you know something.""
"I know your father was very specific about protecting your interests. I also know that the arrangements made after his death were not as straightforward as they should have been.""
My throat went dry.
"What does that mean?""
"It means I would prefer to speak with you in person.""
"When?""
"Tomorrow morning, if possible.""
"Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday.""
"I understand.""
His voice softened.
"Your father anticipated that you might need legal assistance when you reached adulthood. He left instructions for that possibility.""
I closed my eyes.
For five years, I had believed my father was gone, leaving only photographs and memories behind.
Now it seemed he had left something else.
A way out.
"Can you tell me one thing?"" I asked.
"Yes.""
"Did my father die knowing his money had been taken?""
Mr. Morrison didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "I don't know. But three weeks before his death, he requested an emergency meeting with me. He was deeply concerned about a financial matter involving someone he trusted.""
I felt the kitchen tilt around me.
"Who?""
"I can't confirm that over the phone.""
"Please.""
"I'm sorry, Miss Hart. Bring the documents tomorrow. And whatever you do, don't confront anyone until we have established what happened.""
The call ended.
I lowered the phone slowly.
Brianna was staring at me.
"What did he say?""
"He wants to see me tomorrow.""
"Did he tell you who took the money?""
"No.""
She looked relieved, which only made me more suspicious.
"What aren't you telling me?"" I asked.
Her expression changed.
"Nothing.""
"Brianna.""
She turned away.
Then she whispered, "Mom wasn't the only person who visited Dad at the hospital during those final weeks.""
I stepped closer.
"What does that mean?""
"Richard went there one night. I saw him leave.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because he told me not to.""
My stomach tightened.
"What did he say?""
Brianna looked toward the stairs, then back at me.
"He said Dad had asked him to handle some paperwork. He told me it was private and that I shouldn't mention it to anyone.""
"Did you see him go into Dad's room?""
"No. But I saw him carrying a brown envelope when he came out.""
The same brown envelope.
I felt a chill spread down my arms.
"Was Mom there?""
Brianna shook her head.
"I don't think so.""
"How do you know?""
"Because she was home with us. She was crying in the kitchen when Richard came back.""
I stared at her.
My mother had cried when my father was dying.
I remembered those nights. I remembered the way she sat at the kitchen table, holding a cup of tea she never drank. I remembered her telling me that adults sometimes had to make difficult decisions to protect their children.
At the time, I thought she meant she was trying to protect me from losing my father.
Now I wasn't sure what she had meant.
Before I could ask anything else, the front door opened.
Richard's voice carried down the hallway.
"Linda? Where are you?""
Brianna grabbed the document from the table.
"Put your phone away," she whispered.
I stared at her.
"Why?""
"Because he knows what Dad's signature looks like.""
Footsteps approached.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and placed the document beneath a stack of grocery advertisements.
Richard appeared in the kitchen wearing his work jacket. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes moved immediately to the table.
"What are you two doing?""
"Nothing," Brianna said.
Richard looked at me.
"Where's your mother?""
"She went out.""
"Out where?""
"I don't know.""
His gaze lingered on my face.
Then he noticed the shopping bag on the table.
"Linda bought you a dress?""
"Yes.""
He picked up the blue dress and examined it.
"Looks fine.""
I said nothing.
He put it back into the bag.
"Your ceremony starts at ten. We need to leave by nine. Don't make your mother late because you want to argue about something that happened yesterday.""
I looked him directly in the eye.
"What if yesterday wasn't an accident?""
His hand stopped moving.
For a second, the relaxed expression disappeared.
Then he smiled.
"Are we still talking about the paint?""
"Yes.""
"Your sister made a mess. Your mother bought you a replacement. The matter is settled.""
"What if the paint wasn't the only thing someone wanted to destroy?""
Richard slowly turned toward me.
"What are you talking about?""
I watched his face.
I thought of the envelope. The transfer. The forged signature.
And the warning that he wasn't the person who had forged it.
"Nothing," I said.
His smile returned.
"Good. Then let's keep it that way.""
He walked out of the kitchen.
Brianna waited until his footsteps faded before taking a shaky breath.
"You shouldn't provoke him.""
"Why? Because he might destroy my dress again?""
She shook her head.
"No.""
Her voice was barely audible.
"Because if Richard realizes you know about the trust, he'll make sure you never get to the lawyer tomorrow.""
I looked toward the hallway where he had disappeared.
For the first time, I wondered whether the ceremony itself had become dangerous.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Another message from the unknown number.
*Your father left a second letter. Richard doesn't know where it is. Your mother does.*
I read it twice.
Then a final line appeared.
*Find it before midnight.*
I looked at the clock.
May you like
It was 6:43 p.m.
And somewhere in the house, my mother was hiding the last message my father had ever left me.
