Chapter 2 - THE LETTERS IN THE ATTIC
I read the email three times.
The first time, I couldn't understand the words. The second time, I understood them but refused to believe them. By the third, I could hear my father's voice in every sentence.
He had written that Grandma was becoming forgetful. That I was irresponsible. That I had been asking for money and would waste anything she gave me. He instructed Belle to keep me away from family gatherings whenever Grandma visited.
The last line was worse.
“Don't let him speak to her alone. She'll tell him about the trust.”
I looked at Grandma. “You knew I was supposed to receive the house?”
“I believed you knew,” she said. “I thought your father had given you the deed after I signed the papers.”
“I never saw a deed.”
Her expression crumpled. “Then they kept that from you too.”
Malcolm explained that Grandma had placed the lake house and an investment account into a trust for my benefit. She had named herself trustee during her lifetime and appointed Malcolm as successor trustee. The property was never supposed to pass through my parents' hands.
Three years earlier, Dad had submitted a document claiming Grandma had authorized him to act on her behalf. The document included a power of attorney she had never signed. With it, he had arranged the transfer to Cross Lake Holdings.
The company was controlled by Logan.
“Why would you let them do this?” I asked Grandma, then immediately regretted the question.
She didn't flinch. “I didn't let them. I was recovering from surgery when the paperwork was filed. Your father told me the county needed an updated tax form. I signed nothing. I did not know the property had been transferred until yesterday.”
Malcolm nodded. “The county recording office has preserved the filing. We have already requested certified copies.”
Grandma turned to me. “I wrote to you every month.”
“I know.”
“I sent birthday cards. Christmas cards. I called your old number until it was disconnected.”
“I never got anything.”
Her eyes shone. “I thought you were angry with me.”
I squeezed her hand. “I thought you had forgotten me.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Grandma stood. “Come with me.”
She led me upstairs to the attic. The house smelled of cedar, dust, and the lemon polish she had used on the banister for as long as I could remember. In the attic, a small wooden desk sat beneath the window. Beside it were two storage boxes tied with ribbon.
Grandma opened the first.
Inside were envelopes. Dozens of them. Some were addressed to me at my old apartment. Others were addressed to my workplace. A few had been returned with labels stating that the recipient had moved.
“I kept copies,” she said. “When letters began coming back, I started saving everything.”
I picked up an envelope with my name written in her careful handwriting. It was dated two years earlier.
Inside was a birthday card and a note.
My darling Zaden, I hope you are happy and healthy. The lake house is waiting for you whenever you are ready. Your grandfather would have loved seeing you there.
I sat on the attic floor.
I had spent that birthday eating a vending-machine sandwich in the break room at work. I had told myself no one remembered.
Grandma sat beside me, her knees creaking.
“I should have come looking for you,” she whispered.
“You were told I wanted no contact with you.”
“I should have known better.”
I shook my head. “They made sure neither of us could know.”
The second box held copies of financial statements. Malcolm had asked Grandma to gather every record she could find. There were trust statements, property tax notices, and a list of checks made out to a company called Northline Restoration.
One payment caught my attention: $18,600.
“What is this?”
“Your father said the roof needed repairs,” Grandma answered.
The check had been paid from the trust account. But the contractor listed on the invoice had no business address. The phone number was disconnected.
I photographed the document and sent it to Malcolm.
A moment later, my phone buzzed.
It was a text from Belle.
Please don't destroy our family over this. Dad is sick with worry. Logan says the loan can be refinanced. We can fix everything.
I stared at the message.
For years, whenever Belle needed something, I had been expected to understand. When she needed rent, I paid. When she needed a car, I co-signed. When her children needed school supplies, I sent money. I had called it love.
Now she was asking me to protect the people who had left me homeless.
I typed one sentence.
You had three years to fix it. You chose to hide it.
Then I blocked her number.
Downstairs, Malcolm was speaking with a detective from the county financial crimes unit. He had asked Grandma's permission before sharing the preliminary evidence.
I walked to the window and looked across the quiet neighborhood.
May you like
For the first time in months, I wasn't wondering where I would sleep that night.
I was wondering how many other things my family had stolen while I was busy trying to survive.
