Chapter 6: The Graduation They Tried to Steal
I showed Dad the messages.
He read them without saying a word.
Then he handed the phone back.
"Don't respond.""
"She's threatening me.""
"I know.""
"Shouldn't we report this?""
"We'll preserve the messages and give them to Robert.""
Tasha folded her arms.
"Honestly, I don't understand why those two are still in this house.""
Dad looked toward the upstairs hallway.
"That's something I'm going to address.""
He went inside.
I followed him.
Patricia was sitting in the living room, speaking on her phone.
When she saw us, she immediately ended the call.
"What's going on?""
Dad placed his keys on the table.
"Who accessed Amara's trust account this morning?""
Patricia looked confused.
"How would I know?""
"The trust company traced the login to this property.""
She laughed.
"That doesn't mean anything. We have internet here.""
"Who was using the office computer?""
"I don't know.""
Dad looked toward the staircase.
"Where's Monique?""
"Upstairs.""
"Call her.""
Patricia stood.
"David, I am not going to participate in another interrogation.""
"Then don't. Just answer a simple question.""
She picked up her phone.
"Monique!""
A few seconds later, Monique appeared at the top of the stairs.
She was wearing a white T-shirt and black leggings, with her hair tied into a loose bun.
"What?""
"Come downstairs," Dad said.
She descended slowly.
"What now?""
Dad showed her the messages.
"Did you send these to Amara?""
Monique glanced at the screen.
Then she shrugged.
"Maybe.""
"Why?""
"Because she's ruining everything.""
I felt my chest tighten.
"How am I ruining anything?""
Monique looked at me.
"You're making Dad think we're criminals.""
"Did you access my account?""
"No.""
"Did you use the office computer?""
"No.""
Dad watched her carefully.
"Monique, I want you to understand something. This is no longer a disagreement about family feelings. Financial documents have been submitted in Amara's name without her authorization.
Money has been moved. Records have been altered.""
Monique rolled her eyes.
"You're making it sound like some big conspiracy.""
"Then explain the transfers.""
"I don't know anything about them.""
Patricia stepped forward.
"David, you're frightening her.""
Dad looked at her.
"She's twenty-four years old. She can answer a question.""
Monique's face flushed.
"Fine! I received money. Mom said it was supposed to be mine.""
I stared at her.
"How much?""
She looked away.
"That doesn't matter.""
"How much, Monique?""
"Maybe thirty thousand.""
Dad's expression changed.
"Thirty thousand?""
Monique nodded.
"Mom said you knew.""
Dad shook his head.
"I never authorized that.""
"Well, she told me you did!""
I took a step forward.
"Where did the money go?""
Monique glared.
"Why do you care?""
"Because it was mine.""
"Everything is always yours!""
Her voice cracked.
For the first time, I noticed something beneath her anger.
Fear.
She looked at Patricia.
"Tell her.""
Patricia's face hardened.
"Monique, don't.""
"Tell her what you said!""
Dad turned toward Patricia.
"What did you tell her?""
Patricia looked between us.
Then she sighed.
"I told Monique that when Amara graduated, the trust would be reorganized. I said we could use part of it to help Monique establish herself.""
I stared at her.
"With my money?""
"It was supposed to benefit the family.""
"My mother left it to me.""
"Your mother left you more money than you could possibly need!""
Dad stepped forward.
"That's enough.""
Patricia pointed at me.
"Look at her! She has everything! She has a father who adores her, a college degree, a beautiful home, and money waiting for her. What does Monique have?""
Monique looked down.
I felt something strange.
Not sympathy.
Not exactly.
But I suddenly understood how Patricia had kept her daughter involved.
She had spent years telling Monique that my opportunities were things stolen from her.
She had turned every achievement into a competition.
And now Monique was standing in our living room, unable to distinguish between something she wanted and something she had a right to take.
I spoke quietly.
"You could have gone to college.""
Monique looked up.
"Don't.""
"You could have applied for scholarships. You could have worked. You could have built something for yourself.""
"You think you're better than me.""
"No. I think you could have done more with your life than trying to take mine.""
Her eyes filled with tears.
Then she became angry again.
"Just shut up!""
Dad raised his hand.
"Enough. Both of you.""
He turned toward Patricia.
"Until the financial investigation is resolved, neither of you is to access Amara's documents, accounts, or personal belongings.""
Patricia laughed bitterly.
"You can't give me orders.""
"This is my home.""
"Our home.""
"Then you should have remembered that when you decided to use it to access my daughter's financial records.""
Patricia stared at him.
Then she walked upstairs.
Monique followed.
A door slammed.
Dad stood in the living room, shoulders tense.
Tasha, who had been quietly watching from the doorway, finally spoke.
"Well, that was horrible.""
I let out a breath.
"That's one word for it.""
She touched my arm.
"Come on. We have a graduation dress to find.""
Sunday morning arrived with rain.
Tasha picked me up at nine, and we drove to a boutique about twenty minutes away.
I had almost canceled.
I didn't feel like trying on dresses.
I didn't feel like celebrating.
But Tasha refused to let me surrender Monday.
The boutique was bright, with tall mirrors and racks of formal gowns.
A saleswoman approached us.
"Looking for something special?""
Tasha answered before I could.
"Graduation. Royal blue. Elegant, but not boring.""
The woman smiled.
"We can work with that.""
She brought out several options.
The first was too plain.
The second was too expensive.
The third was beautiful but uncomfortable.
Then she brought out a deep-blue dress with a fitted waist, delicate crystal detailing, and flowing sleeves.
I stepped out of the fitting room.
Tasha's eyes widened.
"Amara.""
I looked at myself in the mirror.
For a moment, I didn't see the girl who had been crying beside a fire pit.
I saw someone who had survived four difficult years.
Someone who had earned her degree.
Someone who still deserved to celebrate.
Tasha came closer.
"That's the one.""
I touched the jeweled neckline.
"It reminds me of the other dress.""
"Maybe that's why it's perfect.""
I smiled.
"I think Mom would have liked it.""
Tasha nodded.
"She definitely would have.""
I paid for the dress with my own money.
When we returned home, Dad was waiting in the driveway.
He looked at the shopping bag.
"Is that it?""
I nodded.
He smiled.
"Can I see?""
I pulled the dress out carefully.
He examined the blue fabric and the crystals around the neckline.
Then he smiled more broadly.
"Your mother would have loved that.""
I felt tears gathering.
"That's what I thought.""
He hugged me.
"Tomorrow is your day.""
For a few hours, I almost believed things might finally become normal.
Then Robert called.
Dad answered in the kitchen.
I was upstairs when I heard his voice change.
"What do you mean?""
Silence.
"Are you certain?""
Another pause.
"Send me the document.""
I came downstairs.
"What happened?""
Dad ended the call.
"Robert found the original file used to submit the beneficiary change.""
"Who submitted it?""
He hesitated.
"Patricia.""
I nodded slowly.
"I knew it.""
"But there's something else.""
He placed his phone on the counter.
The original file contained an attachment showing that Patricia had used a scanned copy of my signature from an old document.
The date of that original document was six months earlier.
I stared at the page.
"That's the insurance form.""
Dad nodded.
"Robert believes she copied your signature from that paperwork.""
I swallowed.
"Can they prove it?""
"That's what they're investigating.""
He scrolled down.
Then he stopped.
"What?""
Dad turned the screen toward me.
A second attachment was visible.
It was an email from Patricia to an employee at the trust company.
The message read:
Once Amara completes graduation, we need to finalize the transfer immediately. She will be busy with the ceremony and won't be available to challenge anything until the transaction is complete.
I read it twice.
Then I felt my hands begin to shake.
She had planned to take the money while I was celebrating.
She had chosen my graduation because she thought I would be too distracted to notice.
The gown.
The timing.
The fake signature.
Everything connected.
"She knew," I whispered.
Dad nodded.
"Yes.""
"She knew I was graduating Monday.""
"Yes.""
"And she thought she could take everything before I found out.""
Dad put the phone down.
"I'm sorry.""
I looked at him.
"Why are you apologizing?""
"Because I brought someone into this family who hurt you.""
I didn't know what to say.
Then my phone rang.
It was the trust company.
I answered.
"Hello?""
A woman introduced herself as Denise, the trust administrator.
"Amara Bennett?""
"Yes.""
"We've completed an initial review of your beneficiary records. Your disputed transfer has been suspended, and we've placed additional restrictions on the account.""
I closed my eyes.
"Thank you.""
"There's something else you should know.""
My father moved closer.
Denise continued.
"We found a document submitted under your name requesting that the remaining trust balance be paid directly to you on your graduation date.""
I frowned.
"What?""
"According to the submission, you requested a full distribution of the remaining funds.""
"I didn't.""
"We understand. That's why we're calling.""
Dad took the phone.
"Who submitted it?""
Denise paused.
"The request was uploaded through a verified device associated with the beneficiary's household.""
Dad looked at me.
I shook my head.
Denise continued.
"However, the document includes a handwritten note from the person submitting it. It states that the beneficiary is unaware of the arrangement and should not be contacted until the graduation ceremony is complete.""
My blood ran cold.
"Who wrote it?""
There was a pause.
Then Denise answered.
"Patricia Bennett.""
Dad's face went pale.
I sat down.
Even after everything we had discovered, Patricia had continued trying to move the money.
She had submitted another document while knowing that the earlier transfers were under investigation.
Dad took a deep breath.
"Thank you. Please preserve every record and send all correspondence to our attorney.""
He ended the call.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "I'm changing the locks.""
I looked up.
"What?""
"Patricia and Monique will not have access to your room, your paperwork, or the home office anymore.""
He picked up his phone.
"And I'm going to ask them to leave while this is investigated.""
Before he could make the call, someone knocked at the front door.
Three sharp knocks.
Dad opened it.
A woman in a dark blazer stood outside, holding a leather folder.
"Good afternoon. I'm Detective Harris. I'm here regarding a financial complaint involving a trust account registered to Amara Bennett.""
My heart began racing.
Dad stepped aside.
"Please come in.""
The detective entered and introduced herself.
She looked at me.
"Amara, I understand you've recently discovered unauthorized transactions involving an inheritance.""
"Yes.""
"Do you know who may have had access to the relevant documents?""
I nodded.
"My stepmother, Patricia. And possibly my stepsister, Monique.""
Detective Harris opened her folder.
"Then I need to ask you something important.""
She removed a printed photograph.
It showed Patricia standing outside a bank.
Beside her was a man I had never seen before.
Detective Harris placed the photograph on the table.
"Do you recognize this man?""
I shook my head.
"No.""
She looked at Dad.
"Mr. Bennett, do you?""
Dad stared at the photograph.
His face lost its color.
"That's impossible.""
Detective Harris waited.
Dad finally spoke.
"That's my former business partner.""
I looked between them.
"Who is he?""
Dad lowered himself into a chair.
"His name is Richard Coleman.""
"Why would Patricia be meeting him?""
Dad didn't answer immediately.
Then he looked at me.
"Because Richard was the person who helped me build my company before we had a falling-out five years ago.""
Detective Harris closed the folder.
"Mr. Bennett, we believe this may involve more than the trust account.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What do you mean?""
She looked directly at me.
"Your stepmother wasn't acting alone.""
Then she turned another page.
And the name written at the top of the document was the last name I expected to see.
May you like
David Bennett.
My father's name.
