Chapter 10 - The Woman Behind the CurtainThe next clue led back to my mother.
I hated that.
I had spent years believing she was weak.
Manipulated.
Dependent.
Maybe she was.
Maybe she wasn't.
I returned to the townhouse alone.
She was sitting in the kitchen.
She looked at me.
“You came back.”
“I want the truth.”
She nodded.
“I was hoping you would.”
That answer surprised me.
“About what?”
“Your father.”
I sat.
She folded her hands.
Then she said,
“I knew he was using you.”
My jaw tightened.
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“Why didn't you stop him?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of him?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
She looked toward the window.
“Blake.”
I almost laughed.
“Blake?”
“Yes.”
Mom explained that Blake had discovered the financial scheme and used it to control Dad.
Whenever Dad threatened to cut him off, Blake threatened to expose him.
Whenever Mom tried to protect me, Blake reminded her that all of us could go to prison.
“So you chose to sacrifice me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than a lie.
“Why?”
“Because I thought it would end.”
“It lasted four years.”
“I know.”
“You watched me work until three in the morning.”
“I know.”
“You watched me pay your mortgage.”
“I know.”
“You watched Dad call me selfish.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“I hated myself for it.”
I stared at her.
“You should.”
She nodded.
Then she pulled a folder from beneath the table.
“I want you to have this.”
Inside were bank statements.
Property transfers.
Tax documents.
And a letter from my father.
I recognized his handwriting.
It described a trust.
My name appeared several times.
“What is this?”
Mom whispered,
“Your grandmother's estate.”
I looked up.
“Grandma's estate?”
“Yes.”
I had always believed Grandma had left everything to the family jointly.
That was what Dad had told me.
But the document said something else.
Almost everything belonged to me.
A property.
Investment accounts.
A portfolio of municipal bonds.
And a controlling interest in a private development company.
I stared.
“This can't be real.”
“It is.”
“Why did Grandma do this?”
“Because she knew what would happen.”
I looked closer.
The trust had been established seven years earlier.
Years before the company collapse.
Years before I began paying bills.
Grandma had planned for my future.
Dad had hidden the trust.
My mother had known.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father threatened to disinherit us all.”
I stood.
“He didn't have the right.”
“No.”
“So why?”
“Because he already had control of the estate.”
“How?”
She swallowed.
“The trust documents were changed.”
I froze.
“Changed how?”
“Your father's signature appears on the amendment.”
I felt cold.
“Was it forged?”
“I don't know.”
“Who witnessed it?”
My mother looked down.
“Elliot Hart.”
I sat.
Everything connected.
Grandma.
Elliot.
My father.
The trust.
My career.
The shell companies.
But one thing didn't fit.
Blake.
“Why did Blake throw me out?”
Mom looked at me.
“Because he found the trust.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Blake discovered Grandma had left the estate to you.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“And he told Dad.”
“Yes.”
“What did Dad do?”
“He panicked.”
“So they decided to remove me.”
Mom nodded.
“They believed if you disappeared from the family, they could force a legal settlement.”
I shook my head.
“You mean they thought they could get the trust.”
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“They threw me out because they wanted my inheritance.”
Mom nodded.
Then she whispered,
“But that's not the worst part.”
I stared.
“What is?”
“Your grandmother changed the trust after the company collapse.”
I frowned.
“She knew they would come after you.”
“What did she add?”
Mom took another document from the folder.
I read the clause.
If any beneficiary attempted to fraudulently transfer the estate or coerce Natalie Bennett into surrendering her inheritance, the entire estate would immediately pass to a public foundation.
I stared.
Dad couldn't get it.
Blake couldn't get it.
None of them could.
Unless they could prove I had voluntarily surrendered it.
And suddenly their plan made sense.
They didn't want to steal my inheritance.
They wanted to force me to give it away.
My mother whispered,
“There was one final instruction.”
“What?”
She slid over a note.
Grandma's handwriting.
Never sign anything they bring you after I am gone.
I looked at Mom.
“Is Dad still trying to get me to sign something?”
She didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
I stood.
“Where is he?”
She whispered,
“Upstairs.”
I walked toward the staircase.
Then I heard something from Dad's office.
A drawer opening.
A man's voice.
Not my father's.
I stopped.
Someone else was inside the house.
I slowly turned the handle.
The door opened.
A man stood beside Dad's desk.
He looked up.
May you like
And I recognized him immediately.
Elliot Hart.
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