Chapter 3: The Money My Mother Left Me
I stopped breathing.
The hallway seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
The money from her mother's trust.
I didn't understand what a trust was, not really. I'd heard adults use the word before, usually when talking about people who owned expensive houses or inherited money from relatives.
But I'd never heard anyone talk about my mother leaving me money.
Downstairs, Dad's voice turned cold.
"What did you just say?""
Brittany gave a brittle laugh.
"I said you're being dramatic. I didn't mean—"
"You mentioned Jasmine's trust.""
"I know what I said.""
"Then explain it.""
Silence.
I crept down two steps, careful not to make the old wood creak.
From the landing, I could see the living room through the banister.
Dad stood beside the coffee table. The white envelope from his SUV lay in front of him, next to the document he'd taken from my bedroom.
Brittany stood opposite him, her arms folded so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
"You've been hiding something from me," Dad said.
Brittany scoffed.
"Oh, please. You hide things from me every day. You have business accounts I can't access.
You make decisions without consulting me. You treat me like an employee instead of your wife.""
"This is about Jasmine.""
"Everything is about Jasmine!""
"Because she's my daughter.""
"And I'm your wife!""
Dad looked at her for a long moment.
Then he picked up the white envelope.
"This was left with my attorney after Eleanor died.""
Eleanor.
My mother's name.
I pressed my hand against the banister.
Dad continued.
"She instructed him to deliver it to me if anything happened to her before Jasmine turned eighteen. I never opened it because I was told it contained financial and guardianship instructions that had already been filed with the trust administrator.""
Brittany stared at the envelope.
"Then why are you opening it now?""
"Because I found a document behind my daughter's photograph, and because you just mentioned a trust you claimed not to know existed.""
"I never claimed that.""
"You told me Eleanor left no money.""
Brittany's mouth tightened.
"She didn't leave money to the family.""
Dad leaned forward.
"What did she leave?""
Brittany looked toward the stairs.
For one terrifying second, I thought she could see me.
Then she turned back to Dad.
"You're misunderstanding the situation.""
"Then help me understand.""
She paced toward the fireplace.
"Your wife was wealthy before she met you. She had investments. Property.
Whatever else. But when she died, you were the one who handled everything.""
"Correct.""
"You told me there wasn't anything significant left after the medical expenses and estate costs.""
"I told you that the estate had been settled.""
"Exactly!""
Dad's expression didn't change.
"Those are not the same statement.""
Brittany stopped pacing.
I watched her fingers curl around the edge of the mantel.
Then Dad opened the envelope.
Inside were several folded pages and a small photograph.
He picked up the photograph first.
It showed my mother sitting on a wooden bench in our old backyard, holding me in her lap. I was a toddler, my hair tied into two uneven ponytails.
Mom was smiling at the camera.
On the back, she'd written something in blue ink.
For Jasmine, when she is old enough to understand how fiercely she was loved.
Dad closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked like the man who'd sat beside my hospital bed when I was little and I had the flu.
Then he unfolded the first page.
I couldn't hear every word he read, but I saw his eyes moving across the lines.
His shoulders stiffened.
He turned to the next page.
Then another.
Finally, he placed the papers on the table and looked at Brittany.
"How much?""
Brittany shook her head.
"I don't know what you're talking about.""
"How much of Jasmine's money have you spent?""
"I haven't spent her money.""
Dad pointed at the shopping bags.
"Then how did you pay for these?""
"With the household account.""
"And where does the household account get its money?""
"Your company income.""
"Partly," Dad said.
"But not exclusively.""
He picked up another sheet.
"This account received regular transfers from a custodial investment account. An account established for Jasmine by her mother.""
Brittany's face drained of color.
I didn't understand all the words, but I understood her expression.
She was afraid.
Dad continued reading.
"According to these records, the trust was worth approximately two million dollars when Eleanor died.""
Two million.
I had never seen two million dollars.
I wasn't sure I could even picture it.
Dad stared at the page.
"Over the past eighteen months, more than three hundred thousand dollars has been transferred from the trust into accounts connected to our household.""
Brittany shook her head quickly.
"That money was used for the family.""
"Three hundred thousand dollars?""
"The house needed improvements. The children needed things. We had expenses.""
"Jasmine needed things, too.""
"She has everything she needs!""
Dad's palm struck the table.
The sound made me flinch.
"Then why did she ask you for a gift today and get thrown out of her own house?""
Brittany's face twisted.
"Because I'm tired of being expected to treat her like a princess!""
"She's a child.""
"She's the reason nothing in this house is ever mine!""
Dad stared at her.
I gripped the banister so tightly that my fingers hurt.
Brittany began pacing again, speaking faster now.
"Before I married you, I had a life. I had bills. I had responsibilities. You told me we'd build something together, but everything is in your name.
The house is yours. The cars are yours. Your company is yours. Even the money we use has rules attached to it.""
"Because you agreed to those rules.""
"I didn't know there would be so many!""
"You signed the agreements.""
"Because I trusted you!""
Dad looked down at the papers.
"And I trusted you with my daughter.""
That stopped her.
For several seconds, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Then Brittany spoke more quietly.
"You don't understand what it was like.""
"What?""
"Living with a child who reminded you of the woman who came before you.""
Dad's face went rigid.
"Don't.""
"Every photograph. Every story. Every time Jasmine smiled, you told me how much she looked like Eleanor.""
"She does look like her mother.""
"I know!""
Brittany's voice cracked.
"That's the problem. I could never compete with a dead woman.""
Dad didn't move.
I stared at Brittany from the stairs.
For the first time, I wondered whether her cruelty had started long before the day she'd slapped my hand away. Whether every time I'd asked for something, she'd heard my mother's name instead of mine.
But understanding why someone hurt you didn't make the hurt disappear.
Dad gathered the documents into a neat pile.
"Where did the money go?""
Brittany wiped her cheeks angrily.
"Some of it went into the house.""
"Which part?""
"The renovations.""
"Those cost sixty thousand dollars. The records show over three hundred thousand withdrawn.""
She said nothing.
Dad took out his phone.
"I'm calling the bank.""
"No!""
Brittany lunged toward the table.
Dad pulled the papers away.
"Don't touch those.""
"You can't do this to me!""
"Do what?""
"Destroy our marriage over a few transfers!""
"A few transfers?"" His voice rose for the first time.
"This is money Eleanor left for Jasmine's future. Money intended for her education, her security, her life. You used it without my knowledge?""
"I was going to replace it!""
"When?""
"When things settled down!""
"Things have been settled down for eighteen months!""
Brittany's eyes flashed.
"You have no idea how expensive it is to live with you!""
Dad looked at her as though he no longer recognized the woman standing in front of him.
Then he asked the question that made her fall silent.
"Did you marry me because you loved me, Brittany—or because you knew about Eleanor's money?""
Her lips parted.
Nothing came out.
Dad nodded slowly.
"I see.""
"No, Nathan. You don't.""
"Then tell me.""
She looked at the door, then at the shopping bags, then at the documents on the table.
Finally, she said, "I knew she had money before I married you.""
The words seemed to drain the warmth from the room.
Dad's face went blank.
"How?""
Brittany swallowed.
"Someone told me.""
"Who?""
She shook her head.
"Who told you about my daughter's trust?""
"I don't remember.""
"You don't remember who told you that my dead wife's child had two million dollars?""
"I was curious!""
"Curious enough to marry me?""
She began crying in earnest.
"Nathan, I did love you.""
"That wasn't my question.""
Brittany covered her face.
For a moment, I thought she might tell him everything.
Instead, she whispered, "I made mistakes.""
Dad turned away.
He walked toward the front window and stood there, looking out at the driveway where his SUV was parked.
I wanted to run to him.
I wanted to tell him that I didn't care about the money. I didn't care about the dollhouse or the silver box or any of the things Brittany had bought.
I only wanted to know that my father wouldn't send me away to protect his marriage.
But I was afraid to interrupt.
Then Dad spoke.
"Jasmine, sweetheart. I know you're on the stairs.""
My heart jumped.
I slowly descended.
When I reached the living room, he knelt in front of me.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I stared at him.
"For what?""
"For not seeing what was happening in my own home.""
I shook my head.
"You were working.""
"That isn't an excuse.""
His voice trembled.
"I promised your mother I'd take care of you. I promised you. And I let someone make you feel like you didn't belong here.""
I couldn't stop the tears.
"Dad, am I going to lose my home?""
He took both my hands.
"No.""
"Are you going to send me away?""
"Never.""
"Even if Brittany gets mad?""
He looked over my shoulder at his wife.
"Even then.""
Brittany stood beside the coffee table, her face pale and blotchy.
"You can't make promises like that without talking to me," she said.
Dad rose slowly.
"I just did.""
He picked up the white envelope and placed it inside his jacket.
"Tomorrow morning, I'm taking Jasmine to see my attorney. We'll review every transaction, secure the trust, and find out exactly where the money went.""
Brittany stepped toward him.
"And what happens to me?""
He looked at her.
"That depends on what we discover.""
Her expression changed.
The tears stopped.
"You wouldn't dare.""
Dad didn't answer.
Brittany glanced toward the staircase, then at me.
When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that I almost couldn't hear it.
"There's something you don't know about Eleanor's trust.""
Dad went still.
"What?""
Brittany's eyes fixed on the envelope inside his jacket.
"The money wasn't the only thing she left Jasmine.""
She swallowed.
"There's a letter in the original trust file. A letter that explains why Eleanor chose you to raise her daughter—and what she expected you to do if you ever remarried.""
Dad stared at her.
"How do you know about that letter?""
Brittany's lips trembled.
Then she said the words that made my father reach for his phone.
"Because I read it before I married you.""
May you like
And suddenly, the question wasn't just whether Brittany had stolen my mother's money.
It was what my mother had known about the kind of woman Brittany might become—and why she'd left a warning that could destroy our family all over again.
