Chapter 8: The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Dad held the business card between his fingers.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
I looked at the name.
*EDWARD HARRIS — SENIOR FINANCIAL CONSULTANT.*
My mother's older brother.
My uncle Edward.
The man whose funeral I had attended when I was twelve.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“How can his name be on this?””
Dad sat down.
“I don't know.””
Vanessa looked between us.
“You know him?””
Dad gave a humorless laugh.
“He's supposed to be dead.””
Tyler stared at the card.
“Mom, you told me his name was Evan.””
Vanessa turned toward him.
“I didn't know his full name.””
“You said he was the man helping Derek with the insurance paperwork.””
“I said he was the consultant!””
Dad looked up.
“Where did you meet him?””
“At an office.””
“When?””
“About two months ago.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Because I knew you'd react exactly like this.””
Dad shook his head.
“You met a man using the identity of my late brother-in-law, and you didn't think that was important?””
Vanessa's face hardened.
“He wasn't using the identity. That was his actual name.””
I looked at Dad.
“Could Uncle Edward still be alive?””
Dad stared at me.
“No. I saw him buried.””
The words sounded final.
But his expression wasn't convincing.
He picked up the card again and examined the address.
“Where did you get this?””
Vanessa hesitated.
“Derek gave it to me.””
“Why?””
“He said Edward could help process the insurance claim.””
Dad looked at the officer.
The officer photographed the card and asked Vanessa to explain everything she remembered about the meeting.
She described a small office with dark wooden furniture, a glass conference table, and a framed photograph of a sailing boat.
She said the man had introduced himself as Edward Harris.
He had known details about my mother's death.
He had even mentioned the house where my mother grew up.
Dad went pale.
“Did he say anything about Margaret?””
Vanessa nodded.
“He said she had made arrangements for her daughter before she died.””
I looked at Dad.
“My mother?””
He didn't answer.
Vanessa continued.
“He said there was money set aside for your daughter. Money that had never been properly released.””
Dad stood abruptly.
“That's enough.””
The officer raised his hand.
“Mr. Michael, we need to understand what she's saying.””
Dad walked toward the window.
I followed him.
“Dad, what money?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Your mother had an estate. Most of it was settled after she died.””
“Most of it?””
He looked at me.
“There was a small trust.””
My heart began beating faster.
“What kind of trust?””
“Your grandfather established it before your mother married me. It was intended to support you when you became an adult.””
“How much?””
Dad hesitated.
“I'm not sure of the current value.””
“Dad.””
He sighed.
“The original amount was around two hundred thousand dollars.””
I stared at him.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
I had grown up believing that my mother had left very little behind.
Dad had told me the estate had been complicated, and that most of the money went toward legal expenses and outstanding debts.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I believed the trust had been closed.””
“Who managed it?””
Dad looked at the business card.
“Edward.””
I felt the room tilt.
My mother's brother had been the executor of her estate.
He had handled the documents after her death.
And now someone using his name was apparently involved in the scheme against me.
The officer asked Dad whether he had copies of the original trust documents.
Dad nodded.
“I have a box in the attic.””
He turned toward the staircase.
“I'll get it.””
The officer accompanied him.
While they were upstairs, Vanessa approached me.
“You need to understand something.””
I didn't look at her.
“I'm not interested in your excuses.””
“This isn't about excuses.””
“Then what is it about?””
She lowered her voice.
“Your mother knew something about that trust.””
I turned.
“What?””
Vanessa glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Tyler wasn't listening.
“Before she died, she had a serious argument with Edward.””
I frowned.
“About money?””
Vanessa nodded.
“She believed he had taken something from the trust.””
My throat tightened.
“How do you know that?””
“Because Michael told me.””
I looked toward the staircase.
“Dad never told me.””
“He didn't want to hurt you.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently, everyone has been protecting me by hiding things.””
Vanessa looked down.
“Your mother wanted to change the trustee.””
I stared at her.
“Who did she want instead?””
Vanessa hesitated.
“Your father.””
Before I could ask another question, Dad returned carrying a dusty cardboard box.
He placed it on the dining table.
Inside were old legal folders, bank statements, and several envelopes.
He removed a document with a faded blue cover.
The title read:
*MARGARET HARRIS FAMILY TRUST.*
He turned several pages.
Then he stopped.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He pointed to a paragraph.
The document stated that the trust would remain active until I turned twenty-five.
I was twenty-one.
Four years remained.
The original trustee was Edward Harris.
But there was a handwritten amendment dated six months before my mother's death.
It named a successor trustee.
Dad read the name aloud.
“Michael Carter.””
I looked at him.
“Then why did you think it was closed?””
He turned another page.
A termination certificate was attached.
It claimed that the trust had been dissolved three months after my mother's death.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Edward.
Dad stared at it.
“This is wrong.””
“Why?””
“Because Margaret was alive when she signed the amendment. And she specifically stated the trust couldn't be terminated before you turned twenty-five.””
The officer leaned closer.
“Do you have the original bank statements?””
Dad shook his head.
“Not here.””
He searched the box again.
At the bottom was an envelope with my name written across it in my mother's handwriting.
My breath caught.
I hadn't seen her handwriting in nine years.
Dad slowly opened the envelope.
Inside was a single folded letter.
The paper smelled faintly of old perfume.
He read the first lines silently.
Then he stopped.
“What's wrong?”” I asked.
Dad looked at me.
His eyes were wet.
“Your mother wrote this shortly before she died.””
He handed it to me.
I unfolded the paper.
The letter began:
My darling girl,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I was unable to prevent.
I need you to know that the money your grandfather left you was never meant to belong to anyone else. Not even your uncle.
I continued reading.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
If anyone ever tells you the trust was legally closed, ask them to show you the original bank records. I discovered that someone had already begun moving the money.
My hands trembled.
Dad read over my shoulder.
At the bottom was a date.
It was written just four days before my mother's death.
Then I noticed something else.
A second sheet had been folded behind the letter.
It was a handwritten list of account numbers.
And beside the final account was a note.
*If anything happens to me, find the original trustee. He isn't Edward.*
Dad looked at the paper.
“Who is it, then?””
I turned it over.
On the back, my mother had written one name.
*VANESSA REED.*
The room fell silent.
May you like
I slowly raised my eyes toward my stepmother.
She was already backing away.
