Chapter 7: The Man Behind the Missing Money
The name on Derek's phone meant nothing to me.
*Richard Cole.*
I read it twice, waiting for some memory to surface. It didn't. The account number beneath the name was followed by a transfer amount of $400,000 and a note that read: Final settlement. Release upon approval.
My father took the phone from Derek.
“Where did you get this?””
Derek swallowed.
“Mom left her laptop open last night. I was looking for a charger, and a message popped up. I wasn't trying to snoop.””
“Derek,” my father said, “I'm not interested in why you saw it. I'm interested in why you didn't tell us sooner.””
“Because I thought she was doing something legal!””
My father stared at him.
“You knew she was trying to transfer Lily's money?””
“I knew she was talking about a transfer. I didn't know she'd actually submitted it.””
I stepped closer.
“Who is Richard Cole?””
Derek shook his head.
“I don't know. I've never met him.””
“Then why would my stepmother send him four hundred thousand dollars?””
“I don't know, Lily!””
His voice cracked.
For once, I believed him.
My father photographed the screenshot and forwarded it to Eleanor. She called us less than ten minutes later.
“Do not contact Richard Cole,” she instructed.
“Do not attempt to access Vanessa's accounts or devices. Preserve the screenshot and tell me exactly how it was obtained.””
My father explained what Derek had seen.
Eleanor was quiet for a moment.
“Richard Cole appears to be a name associated with the financial documents you've described, but I need to verify his identity and relationship to the attempted transfer before drawing conclusions. I'll have the trustee's compliance team examine the destination account.””
“Can the bank stop the money?”” I asked.
“The attempted transfer has already been blocked. We will request that the bank preserve the relevant records and investigate any earlier transactions. For now, do not assume the full amount is still in the trust.””
That last sentence made my stomach twist.
“What do you mean?””
“I mean we need to establish the actual balance. The attempted transfer tells us what someone tried to move, not how much remains in the account.””
After the call, my father asked Derek to stay downstairs while he went to speak with Vanessa.
I caught his arm.
“Dad, don't go up there alone.””
He looked at me.
“I won't let her intimidate me anymore.””
“That's not what I'm worried about. She'll lie. She'll tell you something that makes you doubt what you saw.””
He squeezed my shoulder.
“Then I'll remember what the evidence says.””
He climbed the stairs.
Derek and I remained in the kitchen, surrounded by the ordinary objects of our ordinary lives. A bowl of apples sat on the counter. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere upstairs, a door closed.
Derek sat down.
“I know you hate me.””
I looked at him.
“I don't hate you.””
“You should.””
“You laughed while she tore up my scholarship.””
He dropped his eyes.
“I know.””
“You told Dad I wanted to quit school.””
“I know.””
“Why?””
He rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“Because Mom said you were going to leave, and if you left, everything would change. She said Dad would spend all his money making sure you were comfortable while I got nothing.””
I stared at him.
“You have a job. You have a car. You have everything you need.””
“I know that now.””
“You knew it then.””
He looked up, his eyes red.
“I didn't want to believe that Mom could be wrong. Every time you did something good, she acted like it was an attack on us. I started thinking that if you got something, it meant something was being taken away from me.””
His confession didn't erase what he'd done.
But it explained the bitterness I'd seen in him for years.
“Derek, you don't have to make me smaller to have a life of your own.””
He nodded, wiping his face.
“I know.””
“Then prove it.””
He looked at his phone.
“I will.””
Before I could ask what he meant, a crash sounded upstairs.
My father shouted Vanessa's name.
We ran toward the staircase.
In the hallway, Vanessa stood beside the open study door. A desk drawer had been pulled out, and papers were scattered across the floor. My father was holding an empty folder.
“Where are the original trust documents?”” he demanded.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I don't know.””
“You were in the study.””
“I was looking for my jewelry box.””
“Your jewelry box isn't kept in a locked file drawer.””
She lifted her chin.
“Are you going to accuse me of stealing every time I enter a room?””
My father held up the empty folder.
“These were here yesterday.””
“Then perhaps you misplaced them.””
I watched her face.
She was lying. I could feel it.
But this time, I didn't have to rely on instinct.
Derek stepped forward.
“Mom, where are the papers?””
Vanessa turned on him.
“Stay out of this.””
“No.””
She stared at him in disbelief.
“What did you say?””
“You heard me. I'm done lying for you.””
Her face flushed.
“After everything I've done for you?””
“You taught me that family protects each other. But you keep using that excuse to hurt Lily.””
Vanessa slapped her hand against the wall.
“Your stepsister has turned everyone against me!””
“No,” Derek said.
“You did that yourself.””
For several seconds, Vanessa looked as though she might strike him.
Then she spun around and marched into the master bedroom.
My father followed but stopped at the doorway.
“Vanessa, don't remove anything from this house.””
She slammed the door.
He looked at us.
“I need to call the attorney.””
While he made the call, Derek and I searched the study for anything that had fallen behind the desk. We didn't touch the locked drawers or attempt to enter Vanessa's bedroom. We simply gathered the loose papers and placed them on the table.
One sheet caught my eye.
It was an old bank statement dated eight months earlier.
The account belonged to the education trust.
A withdrawal of $75,000 had been made to an account ending in 4812.
I showed it to my father.
He examined the statement, then called Eleanor again.
“There's a previous transfer,” he said.
“Seventy-five thousand dollars. Eight months ago.””
Eleanor instructed him to send her a photograph and preserve the original statement.
She would request the complete transaction history.
My father looked at the date again.
“That was the month Vanessa told me she needed money for emergency repairs.””
I felt sick.
“Did you give her money?””
“I gave her twelve thousand dollars from our joint savings.””
“Twelve thousand?””
He nodded.
“She said the roof needed repairs and the house insurance wouldn't cover everything.””
I looked at the bank statement.
“So she took seventy-five thousand from my trust and another twelve thousand from you?””
My father didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
A few minutes later, his phone rang.
It was Eleanor.
She had begun reviewing the information submitted by the trustee and found something troubling.
“The destination account for the attempted $400,000 transfer appears to be associated with a business entity,” she said.
“The name on the screenshot alone isn't enough to establish ownership, but the account details provide a lead.””
My father gripped the phone.
“What kind of business?””
“I'm still verifying that. However, the account appears in a document related to an earlier transaction involving the trust.””
My heart began pounding.
“Which transaction?””
“The $75,000 withdrawal.””
The room went silent.
My father looked at the statement in his hand.
Eleanor continued.
“Both transactions appear to point toward the same financial network. I cannot yet confirm who ultimately benefited, but this is no longer just a question of a disputed signature. We need to trace the money.””
Then she asked my father to read the name of the business listed on the statement.
He did.
*Cole Property Holdings.*
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Richard Cole wasn't simply a stranger whose name had appeared on Derek's phone.
He was connected to the company that had received money from my mother's trust.
My father ended the call and stared at me.
“We're going to find out who this man is.””
But before he could make another call, a message appeared on Derek's phone.
It was from Vanessa.
Three words.
Don't trust your father.
And beneath them was a photograph.
A photograph of my mother, taken in the hospital during the final week of her life.
May you like
On the back, someone had written a date and a sentence that made my hands shake.
The money was never meant to be yours.
