Chapter 7 - THE PERSON BEHIND MOM
Dad looked at my mother as though he'd never seen her before.
"What wasn't your idea?"
Mom wouldn't answer.
Grandma's recording continued.
Her voice was weak but unmistakably sharp.
"Diane has made terrible choices. But she has also spent years protecting someone who learned very early how to make her afraid."
My eyes moved automatically toward Ashley.
"No," Mom whispered.
Grandma continued.
"If my suspicions are correct, the money began disappearing before Ashley was old enough to understand any of this."
That eliminated her.
Dad looked at Thomas.
"Who?"
Thomas reached into the box.
He removed several bank statements.
All dated twenty to twenty-five years earlier.
Checks had been written from Grandma's accounts.
Some went to businesses.
Some went to cash.
Many carried what appeared to be Grandma's signature.
Benjamin inspected them.
"These are old."
Thomas nodded.
"Evelyn believed someone had been using her accounts for decades."
My mother suddenly stood.
"This has nothing to do with Ashley's wedding."
"No," Thomas said. "It has to do with why you taught your daughters that money solves fear."
Mom flinched.
I asked the question nobody else would.
"Who was taking Grandma's money?"
Thomas stared at my father.
Dad's face changed.
"No."
Thomas said nothing.
Dad stepped backward.
"No."
I looked between them.
"What's happening?"
Thomas handed me a photograph.
A younger version of my father stood beside another man outside Grandma's old cabin.
The second man was taller, blond, smiling.
I recognized him.
"Uncle Patrick?"
My father's older brother.
Patrick Mercer had died when I was thirteen.
At least that's what I'd been told.
Dad sat down hard.
Thomas said quietly, "Patrick isn't dead."
Ashley whispered, "What?"
The story my parents gave us growing up was simple.
Uncle Patrick had moved west.
Gotten mixed up with drugs.
Died in an accident somewhere in Nevada.
There had been no funeral because his body had been cremated before the family learned.
Apparently none of that was true.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Thomas hesitated.
"Arizona."
Dad looked furious now.
"You had no right."
"Neither did Patrick."
Mom began crying.
This time Dad didn't comfort her.
Thomas explained.
Patrick had been charming, reckless, and constantly broke.
Grandma repeatedly bailed him out.
Eventually she stopped.
That's when money began disappearing.
Forgery.
Loans.
Unauthorized property deals.
When Grandma discovered part of it, Patrick vanished.
My parents helped him.
Dad shouted, "He was my brother!"
"And Evelyn was your mother," Thomas replied.
I looked at Mom.
"What did you do?"
She shook her head.
"At first? Nothing."
"At first?"
"I covered for Robert."
Dad stared at her.
"No."
Mom finally broke.
She told us that after Patrick vanished, collectors continued contacting the family.
People Patrick owed.
Business partners.
Lenders.
She and Dad began moving money around to protect themselves.
Then protecting Ashley became another excuse.
One lie funded another.
One forged form made the next easier.
By the time Grandma's cabin was sold, fraud had become something they could justify over dinner.
But there was one problem.
"If Patrick has been gone all these years," I said, "who tried accessing the trust last night?"
Thomas looked toward the ballroom entrance.
"I think I know."
Everyone turned.
A man stood beyond the glass doors.
Late sixties.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Expensive coat.
A face I knew only from old photographs.
Dad whispered one word.
"Patrick."
May you like
My supposedly dead uncle smiled.
Then he raised my grandmother's original trust documents in his hand.
