Chapter 7 - What My Mother Hid

Uncle Raymond answered my call with the same warm voice he'd used when I was little.

“Merry Christmas, honey. I was about to call you.”

“Did Mom keep a second set of books?”

Silence. Then: “Where did you hear that?”

It wasn't denial. I felt the floor shift beneath me.

He invited me to his house. Evelyn refused to let me go alone and suggested we meet in her office instead. Raymond arrived wearing a camel coat and carrying cookies he'd bought at a bakery my mother loved.

“Emma,” he said, opening his arms.

I stayed seated.

Evelyn placed the forged bank authorization between us. “Do you recognize this?”

Raymond's eyes flickered. “The foundation handles hundreds of accounts.”

“My signature is fake.”

“Then we'll investigate.”

“We already are,” Evelyn said.

He tried to smile. “Your mother's death has left you suspicious.”

“No,” I said. “Losing her taught me to notice when people answer a question I didn't ask.”

I asked him about the second ledger. He claimed ignorance until I mentioned October 14. His face changed completely.

“That day means nothing to you,” he said.

“Then why are your hands shaking?”

He rose so quickly the chair hit the wall. “Adrian has filled your head with lies. He'd sell his own mother to save that company.”

“Is Nathan Vale alive?”

Raymond stopped at the door. “You need to stop asking questions.”

“Is that a warning?”

“It's family advice.”

After he left, Evelyn told me my mother had transferred a sealed archive into a safety deposit box shortly before her final hospital stay. Only two people had authorized access: my mother and me, upon her death.

“I was waiting until you were ready,” Evelyn admitted. “Lillian thought grief might make you vulnerable to pressure.”

I wanted to be furious with her. Instead, I heard Mom's voice: You can love someone and still insist on receipts.

At the bank, a clerk brought us a dented metal box. Inside were three ledgers, an old photograph, and a letter in my mother's handwriting.

May you like

Billionaire’s Wife Kicked a Waitress in Front of 300 Elites—One Slap Exp...

The billionaire’s wife tried to kick a waitress in the face in front of 300 wealthy guests. But seconds later, she whispered three...

My Mother Grabbed My Wife by the Hair Over Cold Soup—But What My Father...

My mother grabbed my wife by the hair over a bowl of cold soup. And the most shameful part? For one terrible second, I almost defe...

My Parents Kicked My 6-Year-Old Daughter and Me Out on Christmas—Then I...

My mother kicked my six-year-old daughter out of Christmas dinner, never realizing I was the only reason she still had a house to...

My darling Emma, if Raymond asks for this box, run.

Then I turned over the photograph and saw Adrian standing beside my mother five years before he claimed they'd ever met.