Questions about money.
Questions about documents.
Questions about my mother.
Questions about why I had never received anything she had promised me.
I leaned back.
“What do we do?”
Dad looked at the folder.
“We talk to a lawyer.”
The lawyer’s office was small.
Nothing like the dramatic offices I had imagined from television.
There were filing cabinets, plants, and an old coffee machine.
Her name was Elaine Carter.
She spent two hours reviewing everything.
At first, she said very little.
Then she looked at Dad.
“Did your wife know about the original beneficiary designation?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my late wife told me.”
Elaine nodded.
Then she looked at me.
“Maya, your mother appears to have made her intentions very clear.”
“Can Cynthia keep the property?”
“That’s something we’ll need to investigate.”
“And the money?”
“If the account was established in your name and the beneficiary documentation is valid, that’s a different matter.”
I swallowed.
“What happens if she already spent some of it?”
Elaine closed the folder.
“Then we trace it.”
I looked at Dad.
For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what we might find.
I wanted the truth.
Whatever it was.
Three weeks passed.
I focused on school.
I passed my anatomy final.
Not just passed.
I scored a ninety-four.
When I saw the grade, I stared at it for several seconds.
Then I laughed.
Beth hugged me so hard I nearly dropped my phone.
“You did it!”
“I did.”
“No.”
She pointed at the screen.
“You did it while your family was falling apart.”
I smiled.
“My family didn’t fall apart.”
I thought about it.
“It was already broken.”
I just stopped pretending it wasn’t.
Meanwhile, Elaine continued investigating.
The bank confirmed the account.
The balance was slightly higher than Dad originally thought.
Ninety-one thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars.
Every deposit had been documented.
The property records were even clearer.
Cynthia had used the power of attorney to transfer ownership into a holding company she controlled.
But she had made one mistake.
She had never obtained the court authorization required for the transfer after my mother’s death.
The property was still legally connected to my mother’s estate.
And the rental income records showed something else.
Cynthia had collected over $120,000 in rent across several years.
The money had been deposited into an account that was not shared with Dad.
Elaine filed the necessary documents.
Cynthia was notified.
That’s when she called me.
I almost didn’t answer.
But I did.
“Maya.”
Her voice was cold.
“You’ve gone too far.”
I stood in my apartment.
“What did I do?”
“You’re destroying this family.”
“No.”
“You’ve dragged lawyers into a family matter.”
“You transferred my mother’s property.”
“I had permission.”
“You had a power of attorney for paperwork.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
She laughed.
“You think your mother would be proud of you?”
That sentence hurt.
Even after everything.
It hurt.
But I didn’t let her hear it.
“You don’t get to speak for my mother.”
“She wasn’t perfect.”
“Neither am I.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“No.”
I looked out the window.
“I’m finally taking responsibility for my own life.”
She became silent.
Then she said,
“You’ll regret this.”
“I’ve regretted being silent for years.”
I hung up.
My hands were shaking.
