Chapter 3 - The Money That Was Never Theirs
I stared at the phone screen after the call ended.
Unknown number.
No name.
No way to trace it.
Just a warning.
My parents didn't refuse because they couldn't help.
They refused because the money was never theirs to give.
For several seconds, I didn't move.
The office around me continued like nothing had happened.
Phones rang outside.
People walked past the glass walls.
A printer hummed somewhere in the distance.
But inside that room, everything had changed.
Daniel Hayes watched me carefully.
"What did he say?"
I looked at the phone.
Then at the documents spread across his desk.
"He knew about the five thousand dollars."
Daniel's expression became serious.
"That means someone is watching this situation."
I nodded slowly.
"And he said my parents didn't own the money."
Daniel leaned forward.
"Did he mention the trust?"
"No."
"Did he mention any names?"
"No."
"Did he threaten you?"
I thought about the voice.
Calm.
Controlled.
Almost like someone who had been waiting years to say those words.
"No."
Daniel looked at me.
"That's unusual."
"What do you mean?"
"People who make anonymous calls usually want something."
He tapped the desk.
"Money. Fear. Control."
A pause.
"This person wanted you to know something."
I looked down at my injured leg.
Three days ago, my biggest concern was whether I would be able to walk normally again.
Now I was sitting in a lawyer's office wondering if my own parents had stolen from me.
Life had changed quickly.
Too quickly.
"Can you find out where the money went?" I asked.
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
That told me everything.
"It depends."
"On what?"
"On what your father did."
He opened his laptop.
"If the trust was properly managed, there will be records."
"And if it wasn't?"
His fingers stopped.
"Then we start asking harder questions."
I understood.
Because my father had spent my entire life avoiding hard questions.
And now they were coming for him.
When I returned home that evening, Leo was sitting at the kitchen table repairing an old car part.
He looked up when I walked in.
"You look different."
I placed my crutches against the wall.
"What does that mean?"
"Yesterday you looked like someone who had given up."
He wiped his hands.
"Today you look like someone planning something."
I almost smiled.
"You know me too well."
"Unfortunately."
He grinned.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Just me and Leo.
No lies.
No family games.
No pretending.
Then he noticed the folder in my hand.
"What is that?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want to tell him everything.
Not yet.
Because I knew Leo.
If he thought something was wrong, he would jump in without thinking.
He had already sold his inheritance for me.
I couldn't let him sacrifice more.
"It's nothing."
He immediately frowned.
"Vivienne."
I sighed.
"Fine."
I sat across from him.
"I hired a lawyer."
His expression changed.
"A lawyer?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I looked at him.
"Because I think Dad may have lied about something."
Leo became quiet.
The room felt heavier.
"About what?"
I chose my words carefully.
"My survivor trust."
His face changed.
"Grandpa's trust?"
I nodded.
Leo looked down.
"Vivienne..."
"I don't know anything yet."
"But you think he did something?"
"I think something doesn't make sense."
Leo leaned back.
For the first time, I saw anger in his eyes.
Not for himself.
For me.
"They knew you needed surgery."
I nodded.
"They bought Chloe a yacht."
I nodded again.
"And they still said no?"
"Yes."
His jaw tightened.
"I always knew they treated us differently."
I looked at him.
"But?"
He laughed softly.
"But I never thought they would go that far."
Neither did I.
That was the hardest part.
Sometimes betrayal hurts because you expect someone to be bad.
The real pain comes when you spend years believing they are better than they are.
The next morning, Daniel called.
I answered immediately.
"Tell me."
"I found something."
I sat up.
"What?"
"I accessed the initial trust documents."
My heart started beating faster.
"And?"
"There is a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"Your father was not the original manager."
I frowned.
"What?"
"Your grandfather appointed someone else."
"Who?"
Daniel paused.
Then said:
"Your mother."
I froze.
"My mother?"
"Yes."
I looked toward the window.
Elizabeth Carter.
The woman who had never once asked if I was okay.
The woman who called me dramatic while I was injured.
The woman who had access to the money meant to protect me.
"How much was in the trust?"
Daniel was quiet.
"Vivienne."
"How much?"
He exhaled.
"The original amount was six million dollars."
The room went silent.
Six million.
Not five thousand.
Not fifty thousand.
Six million.
I closed my eyes.
For years, I had wondered why my parents always treated me like a burden.
Why they never celebrated my achievements.
Why every conversation somehow became about what I needed to improve.
I thought maybe they were just cold people.
Maybe they didn't know how to love.
But now...
I wondered if there had always been another reason.
"Where is the money now?"
Daniel didn't answer.
That scared me more than anything.
"Daniel."
"We're still tracing it."
"Still?"
"Vivienne, your father and mother moved money through several accounts."
My hands tightened.
"How many?"
"At least seven."
Seven accounts.
Seven layers.
Seven attempts to hide something.
"Can you find the transfers?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"A few days."
I looked at my military jacket hanging by the door.
A few days.
That was nothing.
I had waited months in combat zones.
I could wait.
But then Daniel said something else.
"There's something you should know."
"What?"
"The trust was not just for medical expenses."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"It was created to protect your future."
He paused.
"Education. Housing. Recovery support."
My stomach tightened.
"So my surgery..."
"Should have been covered."
The words hit harder than I expected.
My parents didn't just refuse to help.
They prevented me from accessing money that existed specifically for moments like this.
"Daniel."
"Yes?"
"Find everything."
My voice became colder.
"Every account. Every transfer. Every document."
A pause.
"Don't stop until we know where every dollar went."
That afternoon, I received another call.
This time, it was from my father.
I stared at the screen.
Richard Carter.
Before my injury, I would have answered immediately.
Now I let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then I answered.
"Vivienne."
His voice was different.
Not annoyed.
Careful.
"How are you?"
I almost laughed.
Three days ago, he didn't care.
Now he was asking.
"I'm fine."
"Your mother said you hired someone."
My eyes narrowed.
Of course.
They already knew.
"I did."
"Why?"
I looked at the documents on my table.
"Because I have questions."
Silence.
Then:
"About what?"
"The trust."
The silence changed.
It became fear.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But I heard it.
My father was scared.
"What did Daniel Hayes tell you?"
I froze.
He knew the lawyer's name.
That meant he had already started looking into me.
"You know him?"
Another silence.
"Vivienne, you don't understand what you're doing."
I looked out the window.
"No."
I held the phone tighter.
"I think I finally do."
His voice became harder.
"You need to stop this."
"Why?"
"Because family problems should stay inside the family."
I laughed quietly.
"Family problems?"
I looked at my injured leg.
"I was sitting in a clinic asking you for help."
No answer.
"You were buying Chloe a yacht."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?"
My voice broke slightly.
"Do you know what the doctor told me?"
Silence.
"He said I might never walk correctly again."
My father didn't respond.
And somehow...
That hurt more than if he had yelled.
Because silence was his answer.
"I spent my whole life trying to earn your approval."
I whispered.
"I never realized I was trying to earn something you were never going to give me."
"Vivienne—"
"No."
I interrupted.
"For once, you listen."
The line went quiet.
"The truth is coming."
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From anger.
For the first time in my life...
I wasn't trying to prove myself to my father.
I was trying to prove what he had done.
Then my phone received a message.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
I opened it.
And my blood went cold.
Your father didn't steal the money alone.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
A second message appeared.
Your brother is next.
