Chapter 5 - WHAT HAPPENED TO MEGAN'S INHERITANCE
Megan came to my furnished apartment the next evening.
I had never given her the address.
Mom had.
That boundary would be discussed later.
For now, Megan stood in the hallway crying.
“Did Grandma leave me money?”
I stared at her.
“You don’t know?”
“Dad said there wasn’t enough.”
My stomach tightened.
I let her inside.
Not because everything was forgiven.
Because for the first time, Megan looked genuinely confused instead of entitled.
I retrieved my copy of Grandma’s will.
The relevant section was painfully clear.
Forty thousand dollars to Claire Bennett.
Forty thousand dollars to Megan Bennett.
Equal gifts.
Megan sat completely still.
“I never got forty thousand.”
“Then where did it go?”
She looked toward me.
“You think I know?”
That was fair.
We called the estate attorney the next morning.
Records still existed.
Megan’s distribution had been transferred into an account controlled by Dad because she was twenty-one and had signed a short-term management authorization while finishing school.
She remembered signing something.
Dad told her he would “help her invest.”
The money vanished within eighteen months.
Not through market losses.
Withdrawals.
Twenty thousand toward Dad’s business tax debt.
Nine thousand toward Megan’s college apartment.
Five thousand toward Mom’s credit cards.
The rest into household expenses.
Megan’s face went blank when she saw the accounting.
“Dad told me Grandma gave you more.”
“He lied.”
“He said you got the condo money because Grandma always favored you.”
“She left us the same amount.”
For years, Megan believed I had received an enormous financial advantage.
Dad had apparently encouraged that belief.
Why?
Because resentment made his future promises easier.
He had told Megan repeatedly:
Claire already got hers. Someday we’ll make things equal.
My condo became his version of equality.
Not because it belonged to him.
Because he had spent Megan’s inheritance.
I felt something shift.
Not forgiveness.
Context.
Megan wiped her eyes.
“I still shouldn’t have assumed your house was mine.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“And the lease?”
She looked ashamed.
“Kyle said the signature didn’t matter because everyone knew you’d eventually agree.”
I stared at her.
“Did you believe that?”
“Yes.”
At least she was honest.
Then she whispered:
“There’s something else.”
I braced myself.
“Kyle started taking deposits.”
“For what?”
“The studio.”
My stomach sank.
He had advertised weekend recording retreats in Cherry Creek.
Three people had already paid.
Total:
May you like
$6,400.
For rooms inside a condo he had never owned, leased, or been given permission to enter.
