Chapter 12 - THE WOMAN WHO SOLD MY MOTHER'S MEMORY
Eleanor Bennett had been my stepmother since I was fourteen.
She was beautiful, ambitious, and always impeccably dressed.
She loved telling people how much she'd sacrificed to raise another woman's daughter.
But behind closed doors, she reminded me that I was lucky anyone wanted me.
When my father died, she became executor of his estate.
She told me the family business had failed.
She said most of Dad's money had disappeared.
And she insisted I should be grateful Vincent was willing to provide for me.
Now I knew why.
She had concealed the trust that protected my father's investment.
And she had been working with Vanessa to steal it.
Rachel showed me the financial records.
Eleanor's consulting company had received more than four million dollars from businesses connected to Anthony Moretti.
The payments began shortly after my father's death.
I stared at the screen.
"She knew about my inheritance."
Rachel nodded.
"Yes."
"And she never told me."
"No."
For a moment, I felt fourteen again.
Standing in the kitchen while Eleanor criticized the dress my mother had bought before she died.
Then something inside me shifted.
I wasn't fourteen anymore.
I didn't need Eleanor's approval.
I didn't need Vincent's permission.
And I certainly didn't need to apologize for wanting the life my father had tried to give me.
That afternoon, I met with my father's former attorney, Samuel Price.
He was seventy-one, with kind eyes and trembling hands.
When he saw me, tears filled his eyes.
"Claire Bennett."
I smiled sadly.
"Hello, Mr. Price."
He stood and hugged me.
"Your father would have been so proud of you."
I nearly cried.
Samuel opened a locked cabinet.
Inside was a small wooden box.
"Robert asked me to keep this for you."
My heart began pounding.
The box contained photographs.
My mother's wedding ring.
And several handwritten letters.
The first began:
My sweet Claire,
If you ever find yourself believing you aren't enough, remember that you were the greatest joy of our lives.
Tears slid down my cheeks.
I continued reading.
Your mother and I struggled for years before you were born.
We lost three pregnancies.
There were days when your mother believed she would never be happy again.
I covered my mouth.
My mother had known this pain.
And I had never known.
The letter continued.
But grief did not make her less worthy of love.
And if you ever face the same heartbreak, I hope you remember that you are enough exactly as you are.
I began sobbing.
Samuel waited silently.
Then he handed me a second envelope.
It was addressed to Vincent.
My father had written it shortly before his death.
I hesitated.
Then opened it.
Vincent,
I gave you my trust because I believed you loved my daughter.
But remember this.
Money can rebuild a company.
It cannot rebuild a childhood, a marriage, or a moment you chose not to be there.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
Then I found one final document.
A signed instruction concerning the Bennett Family Trust.
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At the bottom, my father had written:
IF CLAIRE EVER LEAVES VINCENT, MAKE CERTAIN SHE NEVER HAS TO RETURN FOR MONEY.
