Chapter 3 - THE UNCLE WHO WASN’T DEAD
I had not heard the name Thomas Bennett in twenty-four years.
According to my parents, Uncle Thomas died when I was sixteen.
Car accident.
Out of state.
No funeral because the remains were transported directly to his wife’s family.
At least, that was the story.
Now his name sat at the bottom of a recent legal demand.
Alive.
Apparently angry.
And demanding nearly a hundred thousand dollars from Chloe.
I looked at my father.
“You told us he died.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“This has nothing to do with the house.”
I laughed.
“Everything suddenly has something to do with this house.”
Mom looked close to fainting.
Chloe whispered:
“I didn’t know he was your uncle at first.”
I turned.
“What did you do?”
She wiped her eyes.
“My dissertation used a private behavioral-health dataset.”
Nora’s eyes widened.
“The one from the complaint?”
Chloe nodded.
“It belonged to a nonprofit.”
“What nonprofit?”
“Bennett Community Wellness.”
Dad looked away.
I noticed.
“You knew that too.”
He said nothing.
Chloe continued.
“I received access through a researcher I met online. He said the data was anonymized and approved.”
“But it wasn’t?”
“No.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I used it in three chapters of my dissertation.”
My stomach dropped.
“And Thomas?”
“He founded the nonprofit.”
I looked back at Dad.
“My supposedly dead uncle owns the organization whose data Chloe used illegally?”
Dad snapped:
“Stop saying illegally.”
“The university called it misconduct.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
Chloe laughed bitterly.
“No, Dad. It wasn’t.”
Everyone turned toward her.
For the first time, Chloe seemed done letting him speak for her.
“I knew the approval was questionable.”
Mom whispered:
“Chloe.”
“I knew.”
Her voice cracked.
“I was behind. My advisor was threatening to remove me from the program. I panicked.”
Dad stepped toward her.
“You don’t need to say anything else.”
She looked at him.
“That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“You’ve been telling me what I don’t need to say my entire life.”
The room went silent.
Then she looked at me.
“Uncle Thomas found out.”
“How?”
“He recognized a unique section of the dataset in a conference presentation.”
“And he sued?”
“He threatened to.”
“What does he want?”
“Restitution. Retraction. A formal apology.”
“That sounds more reasonable than ninety-six thousand dollars.”
Chloe looked at Dad.
Again.
That look.
“What?”
She whispered:
“The money isn’t only about the data.”
My father said:
“Enough.”
I stepped between them.
“No.”
Dad glared.
“Move.”
“Not in my house.”
He looked at me differently then.
For once, I did not feel sixteen years old.
I felt like the woman who had paid every dollar of the mortgage he wanted to hand away.
Chloe took a breath.
“Thomas says Dad owes him money.”
I stared.
“What kind of money?”
“Family inheritance.”
Mom sat down.
Nora stopped moving.
My father’s face became rigid.
“He’s lying.”
Chloe shook her head.
“I saw the documents.”
“What documents?”
She opened her phone.
Dad lunged for it.
Nora stepped backward with a startled cry.
I moved between them.
“Do not do that again.”
My father stopped.
Something had broken.
Not in him.
In me.
The reflex to obey.
Chloe held up the screen.
It showed a scanned trust agreement.
My grandmother’s name appeared at the top.
MARGARET BENNETT FAMILY TRUST.
Beneficiaries:
Thomas Bennett.
Robert Bennett.
And two grandchildren.
Evelyn Bennett.
Chloe Bennett.
I stared at my name.
Then at Dad.
“I was a beneficiary?”
He said nothing.
“How much?”
Chloe whispered:
“Grandma left you a house.”
My heart stopped.
“What house?”
Dad looked toward the floor.
May you like
Chloe answered:
“This one.”
