Chapter 4 - What Grandma KnewI drove straight to Betsy's hotel.
She was waiting in the lobby with the folder.
When I arrived, she didn't say hello.
She just handed me a photograph.
It was old.
My grandmother sat in the middle.
My father stood behind her.
Jesse was beside him.
I was at the far end of the photo, maybe twenty.
Everyone was smiling.
Everyone except Grandma.
She was looking directly at the camera with an expression I couldn't place.
Concern, maybe.
Or warning.
Betsy pointed to the back.
“Turn it over.”
I did.
There was handwriting.
Grandma's.
If Hannah ever comes back, give her this. Not Robert. Not Jesse. Hannah.
My throat tightened.
“Why didn't you give me this five years ago?”
“Because you were gone.”
“I was gone because they pushed me out.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
Betsy nodded.
“I knew more than you thought.”
She sat.
I remained standing.
“What did she know?”
Betsy opened the folder again.
There were bank statements.
Property transfers.
Business records.
A list of dates.
And one name repeated over and over.
Vale Holdings.
“What is this?”
“Your father used a company called Vale Holdings to move money.”
“Move money where?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the dates.
Some transactions happened before I left.
Others happened after.
Then I saw something familiar.
My old home address.
Under a business registration.
I looked up sharply.
“Why is my address here?”
Betsy shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I kept reading.
Then I found a transfer.
$42,000.
From a business account belonging to Jesse.
To a consulting company.
The date was six months after I left.
And underneath the transaction was my name.
Again.
This time as an authorized contact.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because the absurdity was too perfect.
“They kept using me.”
Betsy reached for my arm.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because your credit was clean.”
“My credit?”
“You had no debt.”
“That doesn't explain forging signatures.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“It explains motive.”
I sat down.
For five years, I'd told myself my family's rejection was emotional.
Petty.
Cruel.
Maybe even ordinary.
Now I was looking at evidence that it had been financial too.
Maybe I hadn't simply been ignored.
Maybe I'd been useful.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice said, “Ms. Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“This is Martin Vale.”
My heart stopped.
“How did you get my number?”
“We need to speak.”
“About my grandmother?”
“About several matters.”
“What matters?”
There was a pause.
“I believe you have recently been contacted by your father.”
“I have.”
“Then please understand something.”
His voice became very careful.
“The request for sixty thousand dollars is not the real problem.”
I stared at Betsy.
“What is the real problem?”
“The bank believes you are financially responsible for a debt.”
“I never signed it.”
“I know.”
I stood.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“Then why hasn't anyone told the bank?”
“Because the bank has another document.”
My stomach dropped.
“What document?”
“One bearing your signature from five years ago.”
“That's impossible.”
“So I thought.”
“Where is it?”
“I can't discuss it over the phone.”
“Then tell me where to meet you.”
He was silent.
“Tomorrow. Ten a.m. Annapolis courthouse. Public lobby.”
“Fine.”
He paused.
Then said:
“Hannah, bring no one.”
The line went dead.
Betsy looked at me.
“Who was it?”
“Martin Vale.”
Her face went pale.
“What did he want?”
I told her.
She looked toward the hotel entrance.
Then back at me.
“Did he say why?”
“He says the bank has another document.”
Betsy's fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.
“That isn't possible.”
“Why?”
“Because the only other document your grandmother kept was…”
She stopped.
“Was what?”
Betsy looked at me.
“Your original inheritance trust.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“What inheritance?”
“Your grandmother created it before she died.”
“How much?”
“Not money.”
I stared at her.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Betsy swallowed.
“She left you controlling interest in something.”
“In what?”
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She turned it toward me.
A message.
No name.
Just a photograph.
It showed Solstice.
Taken from across the marina.
Under it were four words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID YES.
May you like
I looked toward the hotel windows.
For one terrible second, I wondered whether the person who had taken the picture was still watching us.
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