Chapter 6 - The Box in the Garage
Dad called Martin immediately.
No answer.
He called a third time.
Straight to voicemail.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
He locked the front door.
Then the side door.
Then the kitchen door.
That scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Dad was not a paranoid man.
“What are you doing?”
“Martin told us not to sleep.”
“That doesn’t mean someone is coming.”
“No. It means he thinks something can disappear before morning.”
We both looked toward the office.
Veronica had managed most household paperwork for years.
Taxes.
Insurance.
Property files.
She had access to nearly everything.
Dad opened the office safe.
Inside were passports, deeds, company documents, Mom’s jewelry box.
No trust records.
He checked the lower cabinet.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
“Wait.”
I went to the garage.
Behind a stack of holiday decorations sat three plastic storage bins marked CLAIRE — SCHOOL.
I had not packed them.
I pulled the first down.
Old report cards.
Dance shoes.
Childhood drawings.
The second held books and photo albums.
The third was locked.
Dad crouched beside it.
“Do you have a key?”
“No.”
He went to his workbench and returned with bolt cutters.
The lock snapped.
Inside were file folders.
Dozens.
My name was on every tab.
TUITION.
MEDICAL.
TRUST.
CORRESPONDENCE.
Dad sat back on his heels.
“Oh my God.”
I opened the trust folder.
Bank statements.
Transfer notices.
Copies of checks.
The account had paid for things I recognized immediately.
A luxury resort in Napa.
A furniture company.
A cosmetic clinic in Beverly Hills.
None of them had anything to do with my education.
Dad grabbed one statement.
“This can’t be real.”
I flipped to the next page.
There were transfers marked BENEFICIARY SUPPORT.
But the destination account ended in the same four digits as Veronica’s personal checking account.
My mouth went dry.
“How much?”
Dad started adding numbers on his phone.
Twenty thousand.
Thirty-five.
Another fifteen.
By the time he stopped, he looked sick.
“Two hundred and twelve thousand dollars.”
I sat on the concrete floor.
Mom had saved that money for my future.
Veronica had spent it.
Dad reached deeper into the box.
His hand stopped.
“What?”
He pulled out a photograph.
It showed Veronica at a restaurant.
Across from her sat Martin Hale.
The date on the back was three months earlier.
May you like
And someone had written one sentence underneath.
They both know.
