Chapter 3: The Money My Mother Left Behind
I didn't sleep.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the door.
The trust.
Patricia had said the word quietly, but I'd heard it.
And judging by my father's sudden silence, it wasn't something I was supposed to know about.
At 1:12 a.m., I went downstairs.
The house was dark except for the light beneath the study door.
I heard voices.
“Daniel, you promised me this was handled,” Patricia said.
“I told you I would take care of it.””
“You said that six months ago.””
“Keep your voice down.””
“What happens if Lily contacts the attorney?””
My heart began pounding.
I moved closer.
Patricia continued.
“She's eighteen now. She has the right to know.””
Dad sighed.
“She doesn't know anything.””
“And whose fault is that?””
There was a pause.
Then Patricia said something that made me grip the wall.
“You've spent two years pretending that money doesn't exist. How much longer do you think you can keep it from her?””
Dad answered quietly.
“Until the house is sold.””
I stepped backward.
My foot touched a loose floorboard.
It creaked.
Silence.
“Who's there?”” Dad called.
I ran upstairs.
I closed my bedroom door and locked it.
My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped my phone.
I opened the browser and searched for estate attorneys in town.
The next morning, I called the number printed on my mother's old birthday card.
A woman answered.
“Good morning. This is the office of Margaret Ellis.””
I swallowed.
“Hello. My name is Lily Carter. I think you handled my mother's estate.””
There was a pause.
“Lily?””
“Yes.””
“Oh, sweetheart. I've been hoping you'd call.””
My throat tightened.
“You know about me?””
“Of course. Your mother spoke about you constantly.””
I closed my eyes.
“Can I ask you something?””
“Anything.””
“Did my mother leave a trust?””
The woman went quiet.
Then she said, “Yes.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What was in it?””
“Your mother established an education and creative development trust for you. It was designed to become accessible when you turned eighteen.””
“How much?””
There was a pause.
“The original amount was approximately four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.””
I couldn't speak.
Four hundred and eighty thousand.
I looked around my tiny bedroom.
The peeling paint near the window.
The secondhand desk.
The sewing machine my mother had bought me.
I had worked three months to save enough for a dress that cost two hundred and eighty dollars.
Meanwhile, there had been nearly half a million dollars waiting for me.
“Where is it now?”” I whispered.
Margaret's voice became serious.
“That's precisely why I need you to come to my office.””
“Is something wrong?””
“I can't discuss the full details over the phone.””
I swallowed.
“Did my father have access to it?””
“Your father was appointed temporary trustee after your mother's death. However, his authority was limited.””
“Limited how?””
“He could manage certain expenses related to your care and education. He could not use the funds for personal purchases, property transactions, or unrelated family expenses.””
My stomach twisted.
“Did he use it?””
Another pause.
“Lily, I think we should discuss this in person.””
I agreed to meet her that afternoon.
Before leaving, I took photographs of every document in my mother's wooden box and backed them up to my email.
I also saved Ethan's video.
Then I put on my oldest jeans, grabbed my bag, and left.
Margaret Ellis worked in a small brick building near the courthouse.
She was in her early sixties, with silver-framed glasses and a warm expression.
When I entered her office, she stood immediately.
“Oh, Lily.””
She hugged me.
For some reason, that nearly made me cry.
She placed a folder on the desk.
“Your mother loved you very much.””
I nodded.
“I know.””
“She was also extraordinarily careful.””
Margaret opened the folder.
Inside were bank statements, legal documents, and copies of letters.
“Your mother established the trust after receiving an inheritance from her own family. She wanted to make sure you would have opportunities regardless of what happened to her.””
I stared at the paperwork.
“Why didn't Dad tell me?””
Margaret removed her glasses.
“That is something I intend to investigate.””
She pointed to a page.
“Here is the original balance. Here are the permitted expenses. And here are the withdrawals made during the last twenty-four months.””
I looked at the figures.
My stomach dropped.
There were payments for a luxury vehicle.
A renovation company.
A jewelry store.
A private school tuition account.
And several transfers to an account belonging to Patricia.
I looked up.
“Those aren't mine.””
“No.””
“Why is there a payment for a diamond bracelet?””
Margaret glanced at the statement.
“That payment was made to a jewelry retailer.””
I swallowed.
“I've never received anything like that.””
Margaret folded her hands.
“Lily, there is a difference between a trustee making a questionable decision and a trustee misusing funds. We need to establish exactly what happened.””
“How much is left?””
She turned another page.
“Approximately seventy-two thousand dollars.””
The room seemed to tilt.
“Seventy-two?””
“According to the latest statement.””
I stared at the documents.
Nearly four hundred thousand dollars had disappeared.
I felt sick.
“Can he do that?””
“Not without justification and proper documentation.””
Margaret leaned forward.
“Your father has not provided complete supporting records for several major transactions. I've requested them twice.””
I looked at her.
“What happens now?””
“We issue a formal accounting demand. If the funds were misused, we can seek recovery and petition the court to remove him as trustee.””
I swallowed.
“Will he know I came here?””
“Eventually, yes.””
I nodded.
“Good.””
Margaret looked surprised.
I wiped my palms against my jeans.
“I don't want him to think he can keep doing this.””
She smiled gently.
“Your mother would've been proud of you.””
I looked down.
Then I noticed another document.
It had my mother's signature at the bottom.
“What is that?””
Margaret followed my gaze.
“Your mother's final amendment.””
She turned the page toward me.
It contained a provision about creative education.
“If Lily demonstrates an active commitment to fashion, design, or the arts, she may receive additional support from a separate scholarship reserve.””
I stared at the number.
Another two hundred thousand dollars.
But there was a condition.
The reserve was to be administered independently by the Marlowe Foundation.
My mother had planned for everything.
I felt tears gathering.
“Why didn't Dad tell me?””
Margaret didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
When I left her office, I had copies of the trust documents, a formal letter confirming my rights, and the number of a financial investigator.
I also had something else.
A new determination.
At 5:30 p.m., Ethan texted.
Are you still coming tonight?
I looked at the dress hanging inside my wardrobe.
Yes.
Need help with anything?
Can you come early?
Already on my way.
At seven, Ethan arrived wearing a dark suit.
He stopped when I opened the front door.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then he smiled.
“Lily.””
I laughed nervously.
“Is it terrible?””
“Are you kidding?””
He stepped closer.
“You look like someone who walked out of a magazine.””
I glanced down at the dress.
“It's a little different.””
“Different is good.””
He offered his arm.
“Ready?””
Before I could answer, Vanessa appeared at the top of the stairs.
She wore a glittering silver dress, expensive heels, and diamond earrings.
Her eyes traveled down my outfit.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Oh my God.””
Patricia appeared behind her.
“What is it?””
Vanessa pointed at me.
“Look at her dress!””
Patricia's expression changed.
She stared at the crimson roses.
Then at the silver stitching.
Then at the blue satin.
For the first time since she'd entered our lives, she looked genuinely uncomfortable.
Vanessa came down the stairs.
“You made that?””
“Yes.””
“With the ruined fabric?””
“Yes.””
She laughed.
“That's actually embarrassing.””
Ethan stepped forward.
“I think it's beautiful.””
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“Of course you do.””
Then she looked at me.
“Just remember, Lily. Nobody at prom is going to care about your little sewing project.””
I smiled.
“That's okay.””
She frowned.
“Why?””
“Because I didn't make it for them.””
I walked past her.
As Ethan opened the front door, my father emerged from the study.
“Lily, wait.””
I turned.
He looked at the dress, then at Ethan.
“Where are you going?””
“To prom.””
“We haven't finished our conversation.””
“We will.””
He lowered his voice.
“You're making a mistake.””
I looked directly at him.
“No, Dad. I think I've finally stopped making them.””
Then I stepped outside.
But as Ethan started the car, my phone vibrated.
A message from Margaret Ellis.
Lily, I reviewed the transaction records again. There's something important you need to know.
Another message arrived.
The largest transfer wasn't made to Patricia.
I stared at the screen.
It was made to an account registered in your father's name.
May you like
Then came the final message.
And the account was opened just three days after your mother died.
