PART4

I pressed the letter against my chest.

Rebecca reached over and held my hand.

“She knew,” she whispered.

Maya picked up the USB drive.

“Let’s see what’s on this.”

The drive contained several scanned documents, old bank correspondence and one audio recording.

The recording was dated four months before my grandmother died.

Maya played it.

At first, there was only background noise.

Then my grandmother’s voice filled the room.

“I want to be absolutely clear, Richard. Olivia’s money is not Jake’s emergency fund. It is not your retirement account. It belongs to Olivia.”

My father’s voice followed.

“Mom, you’re making this sound worse than it is. We’re helping the family.”

“Then help the family with your own money.”

A silence followed.

Then my father said something that made Rebecca cover her mouth.

“Olivia doesn’t need sixty thousand dollars. She’s young. She’ll waste it.”

My grandmother answered immediately.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

The recording ended.

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Maya saved a copy.

“This could be important,” she said. “Especially if the original trust records support it.”

But the recording wasn’t the biggest surprise.

The USB drive also contained a document titled:

PROPOSED CHANGE OF BENEFICIARY AND TRUST CONTROL.

The date was two weeks before my grandmother died.

The document showed that my father had attempted to transfer control of the trust to himself permanently.

The request had been rejected.

At the bottom was a handwritten note from the trust administrator.

Beneficiary’s grandmother personally contacted our office and instructed us not to process any further changes without her written consent.

I felt sick.

My father hadn’t simply spent my inheritance.

He had tried to take control of it before my grandmother even died.

And when that failed, he had apparently found another way.

Maya closed the folder.

“Olivia, I think we need to expand the investigation. This is no longer just three fraudulent credit accounts. We have a potentially separate trust dispute, possible forged documents and a pattern of financial activity.”

Rebecca nodded.

Then she looked directly at me.

“There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“Your grandmother had another account.”

Maya turned toward her.

“What kind of account?”

“A separate investment account. She told me it was for Olivia, but it wasn’t included in the trust.”

I blinked.

“How much?”

Rebecca hesitated.

“She never told me the exact balance. But I remember her saying it was enough to give you a comfortable start in life.”

Maya immediately asked for the account information.

Rebecca reached into her handbag and pulled out another folded paper.

It contained the name of a financial institution and an account reference number.

Maya studied it.

Then she picked up her phone.

“I need to verify something.”

She stepped into the hallway.

Rebecca and I remained at the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all this before?” I asked.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Because I thought your parents had handled everything. And because every time I questioned them, your mother told me you were struggling financially and didn’t want anyone interfering.”

I looked away.

For years, I had believed my family was disappointed in me.

Now I was beginning to understand that they had carefully constructed a version of me that made everyone question my credibility.

The irresponsible daughter.

The dependent sister.

The family parasite.

It had been easier for them to steal from me when nobody believed I deserved better.

Maya returned twenty minutes later.

She looked unusually serious.

“Rebecca, I need you to confirm something. Was this account supposed to remain untouched until Olivia turned twenty-five?”

Rebecca nodded slowly.

“Yes. That’s what your grandmother told me.”

Maya looked at me.

“The institution has confirmed that an account matching these records exists. We need formal documentation before discussing the details, but it appears your grandmother established a separate investment arrangement.”

My heart began beating faster.

“How much is in it?”

Maya glanced at her notes.

“The institution has not yet released the full balance. But the account was never closed, and there are no withdrawals recorded in the information they provided.”

For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than fear.

Hope.

Then my phone rang.

It was Emma.

I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

“Olivia?”

Her voice was barely recognizable.

“What’s wrong?”

She started crying.

“Mom and Dad are here.”

“Okay.”

“They’re telling everyone that you’re lying. They say you stole documents from the house and that you’re trying to destroy Jake’s company because you’re jealous.”

I closed my eyes.

“Emma, what do you want me to do?”

“There’s something else. Dad has been asking me to sign a document.”

My stomach tightened.

“What document?”

“He says it’s just a statement confirming that you agreed to let him manage your finances.”

I stood up.

“Did you sign it?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But Olivia…”

She hesitated.

“He told me if I didn’t sign, he’d tell my fiancé that the money for our wedding came from your stolen credit account.”

I looked at Maya.

She was already listening carefully.

“Emma, listen to me. Don’t sign anything. Don’t delete any messages. Send everything to Maya.”

Then Emma said something I wasn’t expecting.

“He also told Mom to get rid of Grandma’s old paperwork.”

The room went silent.

“What paperwork?”

“I don’t know. But I heard him say there was one document they couldn’t let anyone find.”

My heart began pounding.

“What document, Emma?”

“I think it was something about the house.”

I frowned.

“Our parents’ house?”

“Yes. Dad said Grandma had put something in the property records before she died. He said if you ever discovered it, everything would fall apart.”

Before I could ask another question, Emma whispered:

“Olivia, I think the house might belong to you.”

The call disconnected.

I stared at my phone.

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

The house.

The same house where I had spent four years paying nearly half my paycheck.

The same house where my mother had called me a parasite.

The same house my brother had photographed me leaving while 123 relatives celebrated.

Maya slowly opened her laptop.

“Rebecca, do you remember whether your mother ever mentioned transferring property ownership?”

Rebecca looked pale.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Shortly before she died.”

Maya typed something into her computer.

Then she turned the screen toward me.

A property record had appeared.

The address was unmistakable.

It was my parents’ house.

And beside the ownership history was a document recorded several years earlier.

My name appeared on the screen.

Olivia Carter — Beneficial Interest.

I read it once.

Then again.

“What does this mean?” I whispered.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART5…