Chapter 19 - Forty-Eight Hours
Vanessa returned to the house under deputy supervision.
She was allowed two moving trucks.
She brought three.
The deputy sent one away.
I stayed in the kitchen with Benjamin while movers carried out clothes, furniture she had purchased personally, framed art, boxes of shoes, and enough handbags to stock a store.
Every few minutes, Vanessa passed the kitchen door.
She never looked at me.
Kyle came to help carry boxes.
She ignored him too.
At noon, she walked into Dad’s office and stopped in front of the empty space where the safe had been.
“This room was supposed to be mine,” she said.
I looked up.
“No. It was Dad’s.”
“He promised me we would renovate it.”
“Then he changed his mind.”
She turned.
“You sound just like your mother.”
For once, it did not feel like an insult.
“Thank you.”
Her mouth tightened.
She walked closer.
“You think you won because you get this house?”
“I didn’t want a house.”
“Then what did you want?”
“My parents back.”
That hit her.
Good.
I stood.
“I wanted to finish school without wondering if I could afford the next semester. I wanted to come home after my mother’s funeral and sleep in my own bed. I wanted one adult in this family to tell me the truth before I had to drag it out of bank records and burned folders.”
Vanessa’s eyes went wet.
“I loved your father.”
“I believe you.”
She blinked.
“I also believe you loved winning more.”
She looked away.
For a moment, she seemed smaller.
Then the front door opened.
Two investigators entered with a deputy.
Vanessa’s lawyer came in behind them.
Her face went pale.
“What is this?”
One investigator spoke.
“Vanessa Holloway, we have a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of financial fraud, forgery, and obstruction related to trust and insurance records.”
Kyle dropped a box.
It hit the floor.
Vanessa backed up.
“No.”
Her lawyer stepped forward.
“Do not say anything.”
She looked at Kyle.
He did not move.
Then she looked at me.
I expected hate.
Instead she looked terrified.
“Grace.”
I said nothing.
“Please.”
That word almost undid me.
Because six days earlier I had stood in the rain with my mother’s ring in my hand and asked for one picture of my father.
She had said no.
Now she wanted mercy from me.
I did not smile.
I did not insult her.
I did not celebrate.
I simply stepped aside.
The investigators led her out.
At the front door, she stopped.
“This was my home.”
I looked at the suitcase scar still visible on the porch where mine had hit.
“No,” I said. “It was the place you thought nobody could make you leave.”
The door closed behind her.
Kyle sat on the bottom stair and covered his face.
I sat beside him.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked, “Do you hate me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
He looked up.
“But I don’t trust you either.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
Benjamin appeared in the hallway holding another envelope from the insurance company.
I groaned.
“If that is another secret, burn it.”
For the first time in days, he laughed.
“No secret.”
He handed it to me.
Inside was confirmation that the brokerage account in my name had been frozen and placed under independent supervision pending court resolution.
Also inside was a copy of Dad’s beneficiary form.
The real one.
My name.
His signature.
And beneath it, in his handwriting:
For Grace. So she can choose her own life.
I read it twice.
May you like
Then I started crying again.
This time, nobody tried to stop me.
