Chapter 2: The Secret My Father Took to His Grave
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
My mother stood outside my bedroom, asking me not to believe a lawyer I hadn't even called.
I pressed my palm against the folded letter in my pocket.
"How do you know about this letter?"" I asked.
Silence.
Then Mom tried the handle.
"Mia, open the door.""
"Answer my question.""
Her fingers rattled the handle again.
"Your father was sick when he wrote a lot of things. He wasn't always thinking clearly.""
"He died three years ago. Why are you suddenly talking about his letters?""
"Because I know what you're holding.""
My stomach tightened.
I looked at the paper again, making sure the ink was real, the handwriting unmistakably his.
"What is the trust?""
Mom exhaled sharply.
"Please don't do this tonight.""
"Do what? Ask you a question?""
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.""
I almost laughed.
My dress was ruined. My ceremony was less than twenty-four hours away. My entire family had watched my sister destroy something I'd spent nearly a year earning, then demanded I apologize to her.
And somehow, I was the one who needed to calm down.
"I'll ask you one more time," I said.
"What trust?""
The silence stretched long enough for me to hear the television downstairs change channels.
Then Mom answered.
"There isn't anything you need to know about.""
I stared at the door.
"Then why are you afraid of a letter?""
Her footsteps retreated.
I waited until I heard her enter her bedroom before I unlocked my door.
The hallway was empty.
Downstairs, I found Brianna sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through her phone while a bowl of popcorn rested on her stomach. She glanced up when I passed.
"Are you done having your little meltdown?""
I didn't answer.
She sat up.
"Mom says you need to apologize before tomorrow. She doesn't want you ruining the ceremony for everyone.""
I stopped beside the sofa.
"Did you know about a trust Dad left?""
The color drained from her face.
It lasted less than a second, but I saw it.
Then she laughed.
"What trust?""
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking.""
Brianna grabbed her phone again.
"Maybe you should stop reading old papers and get some sleep.""
"Why?""
"Because nobody wants to deal with you when you're like this.""
She turned the volume up on her phone.
I watched her for a moment, then walked into the kitchen.
Richard stood at the counter, pouring himself a glass of water. He didn't look at me.
"Your mother says you found something of your father's," he said.
"How does everybody know what happens in my room?""
"Because you shouted at everyone, Mia.""
"I found a letter.""
He set down the glass.
"Listen to me carefully. Your father had a complicated financial situation. Your mother handled everything after he passed away. Whatever you found, it probably has nothing to do with you.""
"Then you won't mind if I call the attorney.""
Richard's jaw tightened.
"What attorney?""
I pulled the letter from my pocket and showed him the name.
He went completely still.
For the first time since I could remember, Richard looked genuinely frightened.
He reached for the paper.
I pulled it away.
"Don't touch it.""
His hand dropped.
"Where did you get that name?""
"From Dad.""
Richard looked toward the living room, then lowered his voice.
"Give me the letter.""
"No.""
"Mia, I'm trying to protect you.""
"From what?""
He rubbed his mouth with one hand.
"You don't understand what happened when your father died.""
"Then explain it.""
He glanced toward the stairs.
"I can't.""
"Or you won't?""
His expression hardened.
"You're making a serious mistake.""
"So is everyone else in this house.""
I walked away before he could stop me.
Back in my room, I photographed both sides of the letter and sent the images to my personal email account. Then I searched the attorney's name online.
A law firm appeared almost immediately.
*Harrison & Cole. Estate Planning and Trust Administration.*
The website listed an office twenty minutes from our house.
I called the number.
A receptionist answered.
"Harrison & Cole. How may I direct your call?""
"My name is Mia Bennett. My father was Daniel Bennett. He left me a letter with your firm's name on it.""
The keyboard clicking in the background stopped.
"Could you repeat your father's name?""
"Daniel Bennett.""
A pause.
"Please hold.""
I waited, staring at the ruined dress on my bed.
A minute later, a man's voice came through the phone.
"This is Thomas Harrison. Did you say Daniel Bennett was your father?""
"Yes.""
"How old are you, Mia?""
"Seventeen.""
Another pause.
"Do you have the letter in front of you?""
"Yes.""
"Does it mention a trust?""
My throat tightened.
"Yes. It says I should ask about the trust if my sister tries to take something that belongs to me.""
I heard him inhale.
"Are you somewhere private?""
"Yes.""
"Good. I need you to understand something. Your father came to my office shortly before he died. He gave me instructions regarding a trust established in your name.""
I gripped the phone.
"What kind of trust?""
"A family trust funded by assets he owned before his death. The documents contain specific conditions regarding your inheritance.""
"How much money?""
"I can't disclose the full details until I verify your identity and review the relevant documents with you. But I can tell you this: your father did not leave you nothing.""
I closed my eyes.
For years, I'd believed the small savings account Dad had left behind was all there was. Mom had told me his medical expenses had consumed nearly everything.
When I asked about his old business, she said it had failed.
When I asked about the house he once owned before marrying her, she said he'd sold it at a loss.
Every question had received the same answer.
Your father didn't leave us much, sweetheart.
I swallowed.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?""
"That is something I hope we can clarify," Mr. Harrison replied.
"Your father left written instructions concerning when you should be informed. He also requested that I contact you directly when you reached eighteen, unless a specific circumstance required earlier intervention.""
I glanced at the calendar pinned above my desk.
My eighteenth birthday was six weeks away.
"What's the specific circumstance?""
"I'd rather not speculate over the phone. However, there is one thing I can tell you. The trust was created to protect your interests, and I have reason to believe certain documents concerning your father's estate may need to be reviewed.""
My heart began to race.
"Did my mother know about it?""
Mr. Harrison didn't answer immediately.
"Your mother was informed that an estate plan existed. I cannot discuss what she was told until we meet.""
That wasn't a no.
And somehow, it was worse than a yes.
"Can I come see you tomorrow?""
"Of course. My office opens at nine. Bring the original letter, any identification you have, and a trusted adult if possible.""
I almost said I had nobody.
Instead, I said, "I'll come alone.""
After we hung up, I sat in the dark for a long time.
Then I heard a floorboard creak outside my door.
I opened it suddenly.
Brianna stood there, her hand hovering near the handle.
"What are you doing?""
She jumped.
"Nothing.""
"You were listening.""
"No, I wasn't.""
I held up my phone.
"I spoke to the attorney.""
Her face changed.
"What did he say?""
I watched her carefully.
"That Dad left me something.""
Brianna's fingers curled around the edge of the door.
"That's impossible.""
The words came out too quickly.
I stepped closer.
"Why is it impossible?""
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
From downstairs, Mom called, "Brianna? Come here, sweetheart.""
My sister didn't move.
For the first time in my life, she looked less angry than terrified.
Then she leaned toward me and whispered, "You need to forget about that letter.""
"Why?""
"Because if Mom finds out what you know, she'll make sure you never get a cent.""
I stared at her.
"How do you know there's money?""
Brianna's eyes widened.
She had said too much.
Before I could ask another question, Mom appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
"Brianna, now.""
My sister backed away from my door.
Then, without looking at me, she said something that made my skin prickle.
"Ask her what happened to Dad's house.""
She hurried downstairs.
I stood motionless.
Dad's house?
We had always lived in this same home. I remembered my father talking about a little white house with a porch and a maple tree, but Mom had told me he sold it long before I was born.
I returned to my desk and opened my laptop.
Searching old property records would have to wait until morning.
For now, I needed to know whether my mother had been lying about the trust, the house, and everything else.
I had just closed the browser when a message appeared on my phone.
It was from an unknown number.
Don't go to Harrison & Cole tomorrow.
A second message arrived.
Your father didn't create that trust for the reason you think.
Then came a photograph.
It showed my mother standing outside a courthouse, holding hands with a man I had never seen before.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.
The date was three days after my father's funeral.
May you like
And beneath it was a sentence that made me forget how to breathe.
*She wasn't supposed to inherit his estate.*
