Chapter 3

Richard placed the first page on the table.

“The money was transferred to an account designated by Patricia Whitmore.”

Robert looked sharply at his wife.

“What account?”

Patricia swallowed.

“A temporary family account.”

Richard glanced at her.

“No.”

One word.

Quiet.

Absolute.

He slid another document forward.

“It was deposited into an account controlled exclusively by you.”

Robert’s face hardened.

“You told me Margaret gave you money from an investment.”

Patricia looked at him.

“Robert—”

“You told me it was yours.”

“I can explain.”

Grandma leaned back.

“Please do.”

Patricia searched the room as though hoping someone would rescue her.

Nobody did.

Finally, she exhaled.

“All right. Margaret called me after Evan died. She was worried about Claire.”

Hearing my name from her felt strange.

“She asked whether Claire needed anything,” Patricia continued. “I said yes.”

“That part was true,” Grandma said.

Patricia ignored her.

“You wanted to help, but Claire wasn’t speaking to most of us then.”

I stared at her.

“I was grieving.”

Patricia looked away.

Grandma’s voice sharpened.

“And I instructed you to give the money directly to her.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

Patricia hesitated.

“No.”

The answer hit harder than expected.

For months, I might have imagined some complicated scheme behind the missing money.

The truth was simpler.

Grandma trusted her daughter.

And her daughter exploited that trust.

“What did you do with it?” I asked.

Patricia met my eyes.

She looked embarrassed, but embarrassment wasn’t remorse.

“We were having financial problems.”

Robert stepped forward.

“What financial problems?”

Patricia flinched.

“The business was struggling.”

“My business?”

“You were worried about expanding.”

Robert stared at her.

“We never needed one hundred eighty thousand dollars.”

“It wasn’t just that.”

Richard quietly opened another folder.

“Perhaps I can help.”

Patricia turned toward him immediately.

“What does that mean?”

Richard looked at Grandma first.

“With your permission?”

Grandma nodded.

He laid three pages on the table.

“The account that received Claire’s money made several substantial payments within six weeks.”

Clara rotated her laptop toward Grandma.

Richard continued.

“Forty-two thousand dollars went toward Patricia’s personal credit accounts.”

Robert closed his eyes.

“Twenty-eight thousand went toward a vehicle.”

Mom suddenly looked at Patricia.

“The SUV?”

Patricia said nothing.

Richard continued.

“Thirty-five thousand dollars went toward renovations on this house.”

I looked around.

The marble entryway.

The new kitchen.

The custom dining room where Patricia had once lectured me about learning to “live within my means.”

My stomach turned.

“And the rest?” Grandma asked.

Richard paused.

“Approximately sixty-one thousand dollars was transferred to another account.”

Patricia became perfectly still.

Grandma caught it immediately.

“Whose?”

Richard turned toward my mother.

“Denise’s.”

For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.

Everyone looked at Mom.

She stood frozen beside the fireplace.

I whispered, “Mom?”

She lowered her eyes.

That hurt more than anything Patricia had done.

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