Chapter 6 - The Daughter Who Always Had to Lose
By morning, Dad had reconstructed enough of the transfers to understand what had happened.
Mom had moved thirty-two thousand dollars into her account.
Then transferred nearly all of it to Rebecca over six months.
Rebecca had called them loans.
Mom had called them help.
The bank statements called them what they were.
Money.
My money.
Gone.
Dad sat across from Ethan and me at our kitchen table.
For the first time in my life, he looked older than his age.
"I enabled this."
I said nothing.
"I kept thinking the next rescue would be the last."
Still nothing.
"Every time Rebecca created a crisis, I told myself helping her would finally stabilize things."
"And every time you helped her," I said, "you taught her that creating a crisis worked."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
It was strange hearing him agree.
Part of me wanted resistance.
Resistance was familiar.
Accountability wasn't.
"Where's Mom?"
"At your aunt Carol's."
"Is she safe?"
"Yes."
That was all I needed to know.
Dad pushed an envelope toward me.
Inside was a cashier's check.
I stared at the amount.
$65,000.
"What is this?"
"Everything I can return immediately."
"Dad—"
"It's yours."
"This doesn't fix anything."
"I know."
"Stop trying to buy forgiveness."
"I'm not."
He took his hands away from the envelope.
"I'm returning something that never belonged to me."
That distinction mattered.
I didn't forgive him.
But I took the check.
Because refusing my own money to prove a moral point would have been another way of sacrificing myself for them.
Ethan smiled slightly when I deposited it.
"Good."
"You thought I'd refuse."
"I thought old Natalie might."
I looked at him.
"And new Natalie?"
"She's learning."
So was I.
The flash drive from Melissa contained enough records for an attorney to begin reconstructing the missing trust funds.
We hired one.
Not Dad's lawyer.
Not the family attorney.
Mine.
Her name was Sandra Cole.
She was direct.
"Do you want punishment or restitution?"
"Truth first."
"Good answer."
She reviewed the records.
Forgery was possible.
Improper transfers were obvious.
But she warned me not to turn family conflict into public accusations before everything was verified.
"Document. Preserve. Don't threaten."
I followed her advice.
For three days, I didn't speak to Rebecca.
She sent eleven messages.
First sweet.
Natalie, this has gotten ridiculous. Let's talk like sisters.
Then annoyed.
Dad is acting insane because of you.
Then cruel.
You always wanted to destroy this family.
Then desperate.
Melissa is lying.
I answered none.
On the fourth day, Rebecca appeared at my house.
Ethan saw her through the camera.
"Want me to tell her to leave?"
"No."
I opened the door but kept the security chain engaged.
Rebecca looked immaculate.
Of course.
"Seriously?" she said, looking at the chain.
"Why are you here?"
"We need to talk."
"Talk."
"Not through a door."
"This works for me."
Her face tightened.
"You've always loved drama."
I almost laughed.
"You faked an emergency five minutes before my wedding."
"I panicked."
"You said you were in an ER."
"I was upset."
"You told Dad you'd been in a car accident."
"I never said I was injured."
There it was.
The Rebecca method.
Shrink the lie until the victim sounded unreasonable for noticing it.
"Why did you do it?"
Her expression softened.
"I needed Dad."
"No."
"You don't know what I was dealing with."
"Then tell me."
She glanced toward the street.
"Can I come inside?"
"No."
She looked genuinely shocked.
Boundaries were a foreign language to her.
"Fine. I was scared Dad would find out about the money."
"Why would my wedding cause that?"
She hesitated.
"It wouldn't."
"Try again."
"Natalie—"
"Why my wedding day?"
Her eyes changed.
For the first time, I saw fear.
"Who told you?"
"About what?"
She stepped backward.
"Grandma's letter?"
I didn't answer.
That was enough.
"Oh my God."
She covered her mouth.
"Melissa gave it to you."
"Why were you afraid of that letter?"
Rebecca looked toward her car.
Then back at me.
"Because Grandma hated me."
"No. Grandma held you accountable."
"Same thing to you, apparently."
I almost shut the door.
Then Rebecca said, "You don't understand the trust."
"What don't I understand?"
She smiled.
But there was no confidence in it.
"You think this is about money I spent."
"Isn't it?"
"No."
"What is it about?"
"Dad."
I froze.
"What about him?"
"Ask him why Grandma changed her will six months before she died."
"She changed her will?"
Rebecca realized she'd said too much.
She stepped away.
"Forget it."
"Rebecca."
She walked toward her car.
"Rebecca!"
She turned.
"You want the truth?"
"Yes."
"Then ask Dad why Grandma was trying to remove him as trustee."
She got into her car.
I called Dad immediately.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
When I repeated Rebecca's claim, his face went gray.
"It's true."
"Why?"
"Because Eleanor discovered the withdrawals."
"You told me you didn't know."
"I didn't know Rebecca was forging later transactions. But I knew about the early ones."
"Grandma wanted you removed."
"Yes."
"Why weren't you?"
"She became ill before the process was finished."
I sat down.
Another piece.
Another lie.
"Was there a new will?"
Dad nodded.
"I never saw the final signed version."
"Who did?"
"Your mother handled Eleanor's papers after she died."
Mom.
Again.
I called Aunt Carol.
"Is Mom there?"
A pause.
"She was."
"Was?"
"She left about an hour ago."
"Where did she go?"
"She wouldn't say."
My phone buzzed.
A message from Mom.
Natalie, I found Eleanor's original will.
My breath stopped.
Another message appeared.
Rebecca knows I have it.
Then a third.
If she comes to your house, don't let her inside.
I looked toward the front window.
A car had just pulled up.
Rebecca's car.
But Rebecca wasn't driving.
Mom was.
May you like
And sitting beside her was someone none of us expected to see.
Melissa.
