Chapter 5 - The Money in Chelsea’s Name|
Maureen didn't reach for the envelope.
She stared at it as if the paper itself had betrayed her.
“That's impossible,” she said.
Adrian removed his gloves one finger at a time.
“People usually say that when something is possible and inconvenient.”
“You have no authority to freeze my accounts.”
“I didn't freeze anything. A judge did.”
“On what grounds?”
“Suspicious transfers, falsified business records, and a preliminary finding that money was moved out of an estate before the executor could verify the debts.”
Maureen's eyes darted toward me.
“You told him about the documents.”
“I told him what I found.”
“You had no right to go through my personal belongings!”
“They were documents about my father's business.”
“Your father is dead, Nora. His business is mine.”
Adrian's voice cut through the café.
“That's what the court will decide.”
Chelsea came down the stairs wearing a cream blouse and carrying her handbag. She stopped when she saw the envelope.
“What happened?”
Maureen didn't answer.
Chelsea looked at Adrian.
“Why are you harassing my mother?”
“Ask her about the forty-eight thousand dollars transferred into your account yesterday.”
Chelsea went still.
I looked at her.
“Forty-eight thousand?”
“It was a loan,” she said too quickly.
“From whom?”
“That's none of your business.”
Adrian laid a printed bank statement on the counter.
“The transfer came from Larkspur Holdings. The same company that received money connected to my business.”
Chelsea's eyes filled with tears so suddenly that I almost believed them.
“Mother said it was an investment. She said the café was being sold and I would need money to start my own business.”
Maureen turned sharply.
“Be quiet.”
“But you told me—”
“I said be quiet!”
The room fell silent.
For once, Chelsea looked less like the favored daughter and more like a frightened child who had realized that the person she trusted most might sacrifice her to save herself.
I felt no satisfaction.
I had wanted my stepsister to understand what it felt like to be powerless, but watching her face collapse didn't repair the years she had spent making sure I felt exactly that way.
Adrian picked up the statement.
“The transfer has been flagged. You should contact an independent attorney before you spend any of it.”
Chelsea's tears stopped.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“No. I'm telling you that you may have been used.”
She glanced at Maureen.
Her mother looked away.
That was the moment something changed between them.
Maureen gathered her purse and walked toward the door.
“You'll both regret interfering with me.”
Adrian didn't move.
“Threatening witnesses is a poor strategy.”
She stopped.
“Witnesses?”
“Nora found documents that may establish what happened to her father's estate. If you have nothing to hide, you should welcome the investigation.”
Maureen left without another word.
Chelsea lingered beside the counter, staring at the bank statement.
“Nora,” she said quietly, “I didn't know where the money came from.”
I believed that she hadn't known the details.
I wasn't sure she had cared enough to ask.
“You knew she was taking the café from me.”
Chelsea's chin lifted defensively.
“Dad never promised you the whole business.”
“He promised me the apartment and the café's profits if I helped him keep it running. You were there when he said it.”
“He was sick. He said a lot of things.”
“He wasn't sick when he made that promise.”
She looked toward the door.
“You don't understand what it was like for me. You always had Dad's attention. Even after he married my mother, he treated you like you were the only person in the room.”
I stared at her.
“I was his daughter.”
“So was I, in a way.”
“No. You were his stepdaughter, and he still made room for you. He paid your tuition. He let you live upstairs whenever you needed somewhere to stay. He gave you chances I never asked him to give me.”
Chelsea's mouth tightened.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“Good. Because I don't.”
She flinched.
I regretted the sharpness of my voice, but not the truth.
Adrian stepped toward the door, then paused beside me.
“Evelyn will contact you tomorrow. She needs to know whether you want to pursue a claim against the estate.”
“I do.”
“Then don't let anyone convince you that wanting what your father left you makes you greedy.”
He left.
I watched the black SUV disappear into the rain.
For the first time in two years, I felt that my father's promises might still mean something.
But when I went upstairs to retrieve his recipe book, I found the drawer open, the photograph missing, and a note on my pillow.
Stop asking about Daniel Mercer.
Your father should have listened.
The handwriting wasn't Maureen's.
May you like
It was my father's.
And beneath the words was a date written in red ink—the day he died.
