PART 4
I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page.
My signature.
Except it wasn’t mine.
I had never seen the document before.
I had never signed it.
And yet there it was.
My full legal name.
Abigail Rose Mercer.
Underneath it was my father’s signature.
Howard Mercer.
And beneath both names was the name of a law firm I recognized.
The same firm that had handled my parents’ estate planning.
I looked at Lincoln.
“What is this?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Lincoln.”
He stepped closer.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“Abby—”
“I want an answer.”
He nodded.
“You deserve one.”
He glanced at the woman who had brought the folder.
“Claire?”
She stepped forward.
“My name is Claire Bennett. I’m an attorney who represents several entities connected to Mr. Hayes.”
“Connected to him how?”
She looked at Lincoln.
He nodded.
Then she turned back to me.
“Your father established a family trust eighteen years ago.”
“Okay.”
“You were named as the primary beneficiary.”
I frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you understand what happened next.”
She opened another folder.
“Your grandfather died eighteen years ago.”
I remembered.
Barely.
I had been fourteen.
My grandfather had been the only member of my family who ever made me feel like I mattered.
He used to call me his little statistician because I loved numbers even as a child.
After he died, Dad told me the family had experienced financial difficulties.
He said Grandfather’s assets had been complicated.
He said everything had been placed into long-term arrangements.
I had never questioned it.
I was fourteen.
I trusted my father.
Claire placed a document in front of me.
“Your grandfather left substantial commercial properties and investment assets.”
I looked at the number.
My hands began to shake.
“What?”
Claire pointed to the total.
“Approximately thirty-eight million dollars at the time of his death.”
I stared at her.
Thirty-eight million.
I looked at Lincoln.
He didn’t look surprised.
“Where did it go?”
Claire turned another page.
“The trust was established to protect those assets until you reached thirty years of age.”
I swallowed.
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Yes.”
“So why don’t I have them?”
Claire looked at me.
“Because you were never informed that the trust existed.”
I couldn’t breathe.
I looked down at the document again.
There was a clause.
If I married before thirty, the trust would remain under management.
If I married after thirty, control would transfer to me immediately.
My eyes moved to the date.
I had turned thirty two years ago.
Nothing had happened.
No call.
No letter.
No lawyer.
Nothing.
I looked at Lincoln.
“Who has been managing it?”
Claire answered.
“Your father.”
My stomach dropped.
I didn’t say anything for several seconds.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the truth is so impossible that your mind doesn’t know what else to do.
“My father?”
Claire nodded.
“He was appointed temporary trustee.”
“Temporary?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until you reached thirty.”
I looked at the document.
“Then why was he still managing it?”
Claire hesitated.
“Because the trust records were amended.”
“By whom?”
She slowly slid another page across the table.
I saw my father’s signature again.
Then another.
And another.
There were amendments.
Loans.
Asset transfers.
Management fees.
Payments.
My eyes scanned the numbers.
Millions had been moved.
Some into my father’s brokerage.
Some into companies controlled by Kendrick.
And a large amount had been used to purchase properties connected to Chelsea.
I looked up.
“Did my father steal from me?”
Claire didn’t use the word.
“Several transactions appear to have been made without the beneficiary’s informed consent.”
“That’s a yes.”
She remained silent.
I felt something inside me crack.
Not because of the money.
Because suddenly every memory I had of my childhood looked different.
Every time Dad told me there wasn’t enough money.
Every time Chelsea got the better car.
Every time I was told to understand that “family businesses require sacrifice.”
Every time Dad said I needed to make my own way.
I had believed him.
I had worked.
I had studied.
I had taken student loans.
I had driven an old car.
I had rented apartments.
I had built my life from scratch.
Meanwhile, my father had apparently been managing an inheritance that belonged to me.
I looked at Lincoln.
“How did you find this?”
His face softened.
“Your grandfather was one of the first investors in a company my family acquired years ago.”
I blinked.
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew my grandfather?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“My father knew him.”
Lincoln paused.
“After my father died, I inherited several old corporate records. Your grandfather’s name appeared in them.”
I frowned.
“And you started investigating?”
“I noticed something unusual.”
“What?”
“The assets your grandfather transferred into the trust were generating income, but the beneficiary records didn’t match the public filings.”
I stared at him.
“You investigated my family.”
“I investigated the trust.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to understand why your family was always telling you that they couldn’t afford certain things while your grandfather’s assets were producing millions.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“And you never told me?”
“I didn’t know enough.”
“Then when did you know?”
“About six months after we met.”
I stepped back.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you still dated me?”
His expression changed.
“Abby, I fell in love with you before I knew anything about the trust.”
I looked away.
He continued.
“I didn’t want to become another person telling you who you were supposed to be.”
My eyes met his.
“I didn’t need you to rescue me.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you weren’t asking for rescue.”
He took a breath.
“You were being robbed.”
The words hit me harder than anything else.
A vehicle pulled into the driveway.
My father stepped out.
My mother followed.
Chelsea came behind them.
They were no longer dressed for a celebration.
Chelsea’s face was pale.
Dad looked furious.
Mom looked frightened.
They walked toward us.
Dad pointed at Claire.
“You have no authority to be here.”
Claire remained calm.
“I disagree.”
“This is a private family matter.”
“No,” she said.
“It is a trust matter.”
Dad’s eyes moved to me.
“Abby, don’t listen to them.”
I held up the document.
“Is this your signature?”
He stopped.
Mom looked at him.
CONTINUE READ NEXT PART… 👇
