Chapter 12 - THE DAUGHTER THEY USED AS THEIR HIDING PLACE
Brianna started crying before Rebecca finished examining the account documents.
“I gave Mom a copy of my driver's license when she said she was helping me apply for an apartment.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
The same month Dad negotiated the Northstar advance.
Rebecca advised Brianna to retain independent legal counsel and cooperate with the financial investigation.
She also explained that appearing as an account holder did not, by itself, establish that Brianna had knowingly participated in the transfers.
The records would need to be examined.
Brianna nodded, looking sick.
“I never knew.”
I believed her.
Not because she'd suddenly become a perfect sister.
Because I'd spent twenty-two years learning what our parents looked like when they lied.
And Brianna looked nothing like them at that moment.
She looked terrified.
The account was frozen while investigators reviewed it.
The remaining money could potentially be used toward resolving part of the Northstar dispute, subject to the appropriate legal process.
The rest was less straightforward.
My parents had spent substantial amounts on personal expenses and their struggling business.
Dad's expensive car.
Mom's jewelry.
Brianna's apartment deposit.
Old business debts.
The more the financial records revealed, the clearer it became that they'd been living on money they expected to recover from Grandpa's property.
Except Grandpa hadn't left them the property.
And I wasn't going to rescue them by sacrificing what he'd built.
Two days later, Brianna moved out of our parents' house.
She called me from a motel.
“I don't know where to go.”
I sat on Grandpa's porch, staring at the autumn trees.
For a moment, I remembered being five years old with a pink suitcase.
I knew exactly what it felt like to have no idea where you belonged.
But I also knew that letting Brianna move directly into Grandpa's house could become another painful situation neither of us was ready for.
So I helped her find a room to rent.
I gave her the number of a local employment agency.
And I showed her how to contact the trustee administering the educational fund Grandpa had left her.
She sounded surprised.
“You aren't asking me to move in?”
“Not right now.”
Her silence lasted several seconds.
Then she whispered:
“That's fair.”
I appreciated that more than she knew.
Over the following weeks, Brianna found part-time work at an interior-design showroom.
She enrolled in a community college course.
She began learning how to pay her own bills.
She called me occasionally.
Sometimes I answered.
Sometimes I didn't.
We were learning that relationships could exist without one person controlling the other.
Meanwhile, I began sorting Grandpa's workshop.
The benches were dusty.
His tools hung exactly where he'd left them.
A half-finished rocking chair stood near the window.
I remembered him working on it during the summer.
He'd said it was for someone special.
I assumed he meant a customer.
Then I found a folder beneath the workbench.
Inside were photographs of teenagers working alongside Grandpa.
Some were from the local foster-care program.
Others came from families who couldn't afford after-school activities.
There were thank-you letters.
Drawings.
Small wooden projects.
And one photograph that made me stop.
A girl of about fourteen stood beside Grandpa, holding a wooden birdhouse.
She looked vaguely familiar.
Then I turned the photograph over.
Madison Brooks. First student to complete the apprenticeship program.
I stared.
Madison Brooks was the young woman who had helped organize Grandpa's funeral.
She hadn't been a distant neighbor.
She had been one of the children he'd quietly helped raise.
And attached to the photograph was a letter she'd written after receiving her first professional job offer.
Mr. Whitmore, you once told me that being abandoned didn't mean I was worthless. Emily told me the same thing when I wanted to quit.
My eyes filled.
I had forgotten how many people Grandpa's workshop had touched.
Then I found his final project proposal.
May you like
He had already arranged preliminary support for an expanded program.
He was simply waiting for someone to carry it forward.
