Chapter 6 - THE COLLEGE ACCOUNTDaniel Ruiz entered carrying a briefcase and the expression of a man who wished he were anywhere else.
He introduced himself as the compliance officer for Northwest Title Services. A younger woman named Paige followed him inside, holding a tablet.
“We attempted to contact Ms. Diane Parker several times this morning,” Daniel said. “When we received a fraud inquiry concerning one of the payment methods, the transaction was suspended.”
Diane recovered quickly.
“There’s no fraud. My sister is being vindictive because of an argument.”
Daniel looked at Naomi.
“And you are?”
“Counsel for Kristen Parker.”
“Good. Then perhaps everyone understands that this conversation may have legal consequences.”
Dad gripped the arms of his chair.
“What is wrong with the transfer?”
Daniel removed a document from his briefcase.
“The deed submitted to our office appears to contain your signature as grantor.”
“I signed papers.”
“Did you sign this paper?”
He placed it on the coffee table.
Dad leaned forward.
His face tightened.
“I don’t remember.”
Diane spoke immediately.
“You signed it at the kitchen table.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
Dad shook his head.
“I was in Florida last month.”
Daniel turned toward her.
“Our notary certificate states that the document was signed locally on June twelfth.”
Dad had spent June tenth through June eighteenth visiting his brother near Tampa. I knew because I purchased his plane ticket.
“That date is impossible,” I said.
Paige tapped something on her tablet.
“We found the same conflict during verification. The notary listed on the certificate also reported that her seal was stolen approximately four months ago.”
Trent began moving toward the hallway.
Naomi stepped aside, giving him room to leave, but Daniel addressed him.
“Mr. Lawson, your name appears on the proposed limited-liability company receiving a secondary interest in the property.”
Trent stopped.
“What company?”
“Blue Heron Development.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Diane glared at him.
“Don’t be stupid.”
He turned toward her.
“You told me the company was for rental income.”
“It is.”
Daniel continued.
“The transfer documents would place the property under Ms. Parker’s ownership, followed by a partial conveyance to Blue Heron Development for a nominal amount.”
Dad looked between them.
“Development?”
No one answered.
His voice rose.
“What development?”
Trent pointed at Diane.
“She said you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“The land can be divided.”
Dad stood so quickly that the chair struck the wall.
“The lake house cannot be divided.”
“The lot is six acres,” Diane said. “You don’t need all of it.”
“It belonged to Elaine’s parents.”
“And now it’s sitting there doing nothing.”
“We use it.”
“You use it four weekends a year.”
“That doesn’t make it yours to sell.”
Diane laughed bitterly.
“You were giving it to me.”
“To live in. Not to carve up with him.”
Trent’s face hardened.
“You promised me three buildable lots.”
Dad stared at Diane as though he had never seen her before.
I recognized the expression.
I had worn it at Bellisimo.
Naomi spoke quietly to Daniel.
“Has a police report been made?”
“We notified our insurer and the notary. A report will likely follow.”
Diane turned on me.
“This is your fault.”
I almost admired her consistency.
“How?”
“If you hadn’t frozen the card, none of this would have been flagged.”
“That does not make the forged deed my fault.”
“You’re always digging.”
“I found a charge on my account.”
“You could have called me.”
“I did. You lied.”
Dad walked toward the fireplace and braced one hand against the mantel beneath Mom’s photograph.
“Did you forge my name?”
Diane looked away.
“Answer him,” I said.
“Stay out of this.”
“You forged my name too.”
“The restaurant was different.”
“How?”
“You were supposed to pay.”
“And Dad was supposed to give you the lake house?”
“He said he would.”
“Not to a development company.”
Trent raised his hands.
“I’m leaving.”
Daniel stopped him with a sentence.
“Our legal department has requested that all parties preserve communications concerning Blue Heron Development. Deleting messages may have serious consequences.”
Trent lowered his hands.
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“No,” Daniel replied. “But your attorney will.”
Trent left anyway.
The front door slammed.
For the first time, Diane looked frightened.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Frightened.
Dad turned from the mantel.
“Why?”
She folded her arms, but her hands trembled.
“Because you promised me security.”
“I did not promise you the right to sell Elaine’s land.”
“You promised the house.”
“To live in after I died.”
“That could be twenty years.”
Dad recoiled.
“You were waiting for me to die?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You just said twenty years like it was a problem.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to have nothing.”
Dad’s expression twisted.
“You have nothing because every time someone gives you something, you burn through it and blame the person standing closest.”
Diane stared at him.
It may have been the first time he had ever spoken to her that way.
“You paid for the boutique,” she said.
“I stole from children to pay for that boutique.”
“You offered.”
“You cried in this room for six hours and told me you would kill yourself if the business closed.”
The accusation changed the air.
Diane’s face went blank.
Dad continued.
“You said everyone would know I let my daughter die over money.”
“I was desperate.”
“So was I.”
Naomi intervened gently.
“Mr. Parker, those statements suggest coercion. You should speak privately with your own attorney.”
Dad sank back into the chair.
Diane’s fear transformed into rage.
“You’re making me sound insane.”
“No,” he said. “I’m finally saying what happened.”
She turned toward me.
“And you’re enjoying every second.”
“I’m not.”
“You always wanted him to choose you.”
I looked at Dad.
“No. I wanted him to stop requiring a loser.”
Diane’s eyes filled with tears.
“Poor Kristen. The perfect daughter who had to suffer while everyone else fell apart.”
“You called my children irritating.”
“Because they’re always there.”
“At a family dinner?”
“At everything. Every holiday becomes about Lucas and Mia. Every conversation becomes about their school or their projects or how adorable they are.”
“They are seven.”
“And you use them to make Dad feel guilty.”
“He should feel guilty.”
“You see? You need everyone to agree you’re the victim.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I opened the banker’s box.
“Where are the rest of the education-trust records?”
Dad pointed toward the bottom.
I removed statements in chronological order.
Mom had created the account twelve years earlier, before either of us had children. Her instructions were simple: the money would be divided equally among any grandchildren for education expenses.
After Lucas and Mia were born, they became the only beneficiaries.
Dad served as trustee.
Five years later, the funds began moving.
Ten thousand dollars to the mortgage.
Eight thousand to Diane’s supplier.
Fourteen thousand to a commercial landlord.
Twenty-six thousand to an account labeled PARKER HOUSEHOLD.
The final four thousand had disappeared through cash withdrawals.
“Where did the twenty-six thousand go?” I asked.
Dad closed his eyes.
“Diane’s tax debt.”
She crossed her arms.
“The government was going to seize the store.”
“It closed six months later.”
“I didn’t know that would happen.”
Neither had Lucas and Mia.
They had been toddlers while adults spent money their grandmother intended for their future.
Naomi photographed each statement.
“We need the trust agreement,” she said.
“It’s in the safe,” Dad replied.
Diane moved slightly.
It was barely noticeable, but I saw it.
“So did Naomi.”
“What safe?” she asked.
“The one in the study.”
“I don’t know the combination.”
Dad stared at her.
“You opened it after my surgery.”
“You gave me the code for insurance papers.”
“Then you know the combination.”
Diane looked toward the front door.
Naomi stepped between her and the hallway.
“I’m not preventing you from leaving,” she said. “But removing documents could expose you to additional liability.”
“I haven’t removed anything.”
Dad walked toward the study.
We followed.
The safe was built into a cabinet behind a row of old encyclopedias. He entered the code.
The lock clicked.
Inside were folders, cash envelopes, Mom’s jewelry box and several property documents.
Dad searched through the folders.
His movements became faster.
“It’s not here.”
“What?” I asked.
“The trust agreement.”
He pulled everything out.
The agreement was gone.
So were the original lake-house deed and Mom’s handwritten estate letter.
Dad turned toward Diane.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were the last person inside.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
He opened the jewelry box.
The velvet compartments were empty.
Mom’s wedding ring was gone.
Her pearl necklace was gone.
The emerald brooch that had belonged to my grandmother was gone.
Dad stared into the empty box.
Diane backed away.
“I didn’t take those.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
His face collapsed.
For the first time, the consequences were no longer threatening something abstract. They were sitting in his hands.
The empty jewelry box.
The missing trust.
The forged deed.
The daughter he protected had not stopped at taking from me.
She had taken from him too.
Dad looked at Diane.
“Get out.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Get out of my house.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes.”
“Dad.”
“Leave.”
Her gaze moved toward me.
“This is what you wanted.”
“No,” I said. “This is what you did.”
She grabbed her purse from the living room and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she looked back at Dad.
“When she gets tired of taking care of you, don’t call me.”
The door slammed.
Dad stood in the center of the room, holding Mom’s empty jewelry box.
Then he looked at me and whispered, “What have I done?”
I could have comforted him.
I could have told him Diane had manipulated him, that desperate parents made terrible choices, that he had only wanted to save his daughter.
May you like
Instead, I told him the truth.
“You taught her there would always be someone else to pay.”
