Chapter 8 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
It wasn’t Grandma.
Not exactly.
The woman in Santa Barbara was Evelyn’s younger sister, Edith.
Ninety-one.
I had met her once as a child and been told she died long ago.
Apparently my family treated death like a filing preference.
Edith had helped Grandma create the original trust.
She knew everything.
Samantha drove me to the facility two days later.
Edith sat near a window overlooking a courtyard.
Sharp eyes.
Thin hands.
Perfect memory.
“You have Robert’s face,” she said.
“And apparently everyone else’s secrets.”
She smiled.
“Finally, one of you has manners.”
Edith explained that Grandma Evelyn never trusted Elaine with money.
My mother loved appearances too much.
So Grandma created restrictions.
The custodial investment account was supposed to pass directly to me.
Why appoint Mom?
She didn’t.
The original custodian was a trust company.
Elaine replaced that page after Evelyn’s death.
Forgery again.
“How did she get away with it?”
“Because Robert signed.”
Dad.
My stomach dropped.
“He knew?”
“Not what he was signing.”
Of course.
Dad’s favorite crime was trusting without reading.
Then Edith revealed why Grandma cared about the Malibu cottage.
She encouraged me to buy it.
I thought it was my idea.
Apparently my realtor had received an anonymous tip that the property was undervalued.
Grandma had identified the forgotten beach easement years earlier.
She wanted one asset beyond Elaine’s reach.
She failed because Mom followed the money.
“Did Grandma know Elaine would steal?”
“She suspected.”
“Why not tell me?”
“You were newly divorced, exhausted, raising children and working eighty-hour weeks.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone loves deciding what I can handle.”
Edith nodded.
“Your grandmother included.”
At least she admitted it.
Then she gave me another file.
The $470,000.
My inheritance.
But the full account had been $612,000.
Where did the remaining $142,000 go?
Not to Jenna.
Not Mark.
A college fund.
For Eli and Zoe.
Grandma had set aside money for my future children before either was born.
Mom had also drained it.
My hands shook.
“How much?”
“Almost all.”
For what?
Edith didn’t know.
Samantha traced it.
Payments to a medical foundation.
Pacific Fertility Futures.
Jenna’s fertility clinic.
My children’s inheritance helped fund Jenna’s treatments.
I sat very still.
This was more complicated than theft.
My sister had desperately wanted children.
The twins were born through IVF.
I loved them.
I would never wish them away.
But nobody asked before using my children’s money.
Then Edith said something stranger.
“Jenna’s twins weren’t paid for with your account.”
“What?”
“The clinic refunded most of those payments.”
“Why?”
“Because Elaine moved them elsewhere.”
The money had been redirected through a donor program.
Recipient confidential.
Samantha subpoenaed records.
The payments covered fertility treatment for another woman.
Not Jenna.
A patient named Melissa Grant.
I didn’t know her.
Dad did.
When I showed him the name that evening, his face emptied.
“Where did you get that?”
“Who is she?”
Dad sat down.
“An old friend.”
Mom had paid over $100,000 for another woman’s fertility treatment.
Dad whispered:
“Melissa and I dated before your mother.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did Mom know?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she pay for her IVF?”
“I have no idea.”
Then Jenna called.
She sounded frightened.
“Daryl, Mom is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know.”
“She left your parents’ house?”
“No.”
A pause.
“She took the twins.”
I stood.
“What?”
“They were supposed to be with Mark. Mom picked them up from school.”
“Did you authorize it?”
“No.”
“Call police.”
“I already did.”
Then she whispered:
“Daryl… she left a note.”
“What does it say?”
May you like
Jenna’s voice broke.
“She wrote that the twins were never mine to begin with.”
