Chapter 3 - THE MONEY GRANDMA LEFT FOR ME
The next morning, Lydia spread seven years of trust statements across her conference-room table.
I stared at the numbers.
At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at.
Then I saw the descriptions.
BENEFICIARY HOUSING SUPPORT.
$22,000.
EDUCATIONAL EXPENSES.
$18,500.
MEDICAL SUPPORT.
$7,400.
TRANSPORTATION FOR BENEFICIARY.
$31,000.
I looked at Lydia.
“I had a full scholarship.”
“I know.”
“I paid my own health insurance after twenty-two.”
“I know.”
“And transportation?”
She slid another document toward me.
Mason’s SUV purchase.
Thirty-one thousand dollars.
Paid partly from my trust.
My brother had thanked Dad for buying that vehicle.
Dad let him.
“What about housing?”
Lydia pointed to several payments.
Mortgage.
Property taxes.
Home repairs.
The trust had paid significant portions of the family house expenses under the claim that the home was my primary residence.
Technically, I did live there.
But the trust documents required expenses to be proportionate to my benefit.
My parents had charged nearly the entire household to me.
“What’s the total?”
Lydia hesitated.
“Potentially improper distributions?”
“Yes.”
“About six hundred twelve thousand dollars.”
I stared at her.
My parents had been asking me for money while simultaneously spending money already belonging to me.
“They made me pay the mortgage twice.”
“In effect, sometimes.”
I laughed because if I didn’t, I might have screamed.
Then Lydia placed a signature page in front of me.
Annual beneficiary acknowledgment.
It stated that I had reviewed all distributions and considered them appropriate.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Except I had never seen the document.
“That’s not mine.”
“We suspected that.”
“Who submitted it?”
“Your father.”
Another page.
Another fake signature.
Then another.
Seven forms.
Seven years.
My father had been signing my name to statements confirming that I approved the use of my own inheritance.
“What happens now?”
“We contact the independent trustee.”
“Can they freeze my parents?”
“They already have.”
I looked up.
Lydia smiled slightly.
“I filed an emergency request at 8:01 this morning.”
For the first time since Christmas dinner, I felt like I could breathe.
Then she pushed one final document across the table.
“Unfortunately, this is bigger.”
It was not a trust statement.
It was a home-equity loan.
Amount:
$240,000.
Borrowers:
Thomas Hale.
Melissa Hale.
And guarantor:
Briar Elizabeth Hale.
I stared at my name.
“I never guaranteed this.”
“I know.”
“When was it signed?”
“Two years ago.”
I checked the date.
My stomach dropped.
“I was in Seattle that week.”
Lydia nodded.
“We verified your travel.”
“Then who signed?”
She turned the page.
May you like
The guarantor signature was mine.
The witness certification beneath it belonged to my mother.
