Chapter 10 - THE TRUST
Eleven million dollars.
I repeated the number three times.
Not because I liked the sound.
Because my brain refused to accept it.
“I don’t have eleven million dollars.”
My mother looked down.
“Technically, you may.”
“What does technically mean?”
“The trust was frozen.”
“Why?”
“Because ownership of the original assets was disputed after Marlowe collapsed.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Who established it?”
“My father.”
“When?”
“Several months before he died.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Rachel.”
“Trustee?”
My mother hesitated.
“Originally, me.”
“Originally?”
“I resigned.”
“When?”
“After Rachel turned eighteen.”
“Who replaced you?”
She whispered the name.
“Patricia.”
I stood again.
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
My entire body shook.
“You made Simon’s mother trustee of an eleven-million-dollar trust in my name?”
“It wasn’t worth eleven million then.”
“That is your defense?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She understood the case.”
“Because she worked for Evelyn.”
“She helped protect us.”
“Did she?”
My mother started to answer.
I cut her off.
“Did she?”
Silence.
Daniel asked for documents.
My father retrieved a metal file box from the basement.
Inside were twenty-seven years of paperwork.
Most was useless.
Old court notices.
Tax letters.
Trust amendments.
Then Daniel found the controlling agreement.
He read silently for several minutes.
His eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
I asked.
“This is unusual.”
“Everything is unusual.”
“The trust does not become fully distributable at a specific age.”
“What triggers it?”
He kept reading.
“Resolution of ownership disputes involving three original asset groups.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone had to establish whether the assets were legitimately your grandfather’s to place into the trust.”
“Was that ever resolved?”
My mother shook her head.
“Not completely.”
“Then why is it worth money?”
Daniel pointed to the documents.
“Some assets were shares in land holding companies.”
My father spoke.
“Property values increased.”
“How much?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“A lot.”
Eleven million dollars.
Possibly more.
I thought about Simon.
Meeting me at orientation.
Moving in with me.
Asking for tax returns.
Opening accounts.
Building a company.
Forging ownership documents.
Suddenly, nine years looked different.
“He wasn’t trying to marry me.”
My voice sounded hollow.
“He was trying to access the trust.”
Daniel did not answer immediately.
“Possibly.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
I turned on her.
“How can you still defend them?”
“Simon couldn’t access the trust just by dating you.”
“What if he married me?”
“Still not automatically.”
“Then what did he need?”
Daniel found another provision.
“If Rachel dies before full distribution, beneficial interest passes according to successor provisions.”
The room became silent.
My skin turned cold.
“Who is the successor?”
Daniel continued reading.
My mother looked confused.
“I don’t remember.”
His face changed.
“What?”
I asked.
He turned the document toward me.
The successor beneficiary was not a person.
It was a charitable foundation.
HART FAMILY EDUCATIONAL FOUNDATION.
I stared at the words.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
My mother looked horrified.
“That wasn’t there originally.”
Daniel looked at her.
“When was it amended?”
He checked the page.
“Eight years ago.”
My heart stopped.
One year after Simon and I started dating.
“Who signed the amendment?”
Daniel looked at the signature line.
“Trustee Patricia Hart.”
My mother grabbed the document.
“She couldn’t do that.”
“Apparently she did.”
“Without Rachel’s consent?”
“At that time Rachel may not have had consent authority under the instrument.”
I stared at my mother.
“You handed my trust to Patricia.”
“I thought she was protecting it.”
“She made her own foundation the successor beneficiary.”
“I didn’t know.”
I laughed.
Of course.
Nobody knew anything.
Yet everyone had signed something.
Trusted someone.
Hidden something.
And somehow I was the only person who had lived my entire adult life without knowing I was connected to millions of dollars.
Daniel’s phone rang.
He stepped outside.
When he returned, his expression had changed.
“That was Agent Bell.”
“What now?”
“They located Patricia.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“At the airport.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“She was leaving?”
“Apparently.”
“With Simon?”
“No.”
“Where is Simon?”
“They don’t know.”
That frightened me more than if they had.
“Did they arrest Patricia?”
“She’s being questioned.”
“About what?”
Daniel looked at the trust.
“Everything.”
Three hours later, Agent Bell called me directly.
Patricia had agreed to speak.
She admitted knowing about the trust.
She denied planning to steal it.
She denied orchestrating my relationship with Simon for financial gain.
Then investigators showed her the orientation email.
She stopped denying things.
Not everything.
But enough.
According to Patricia, she had told Simon to meet me because she wanted our families reconnected.
She claimed it was sentimental.
She claimed Simon later developed his own plans.
She claimed she never expected him to use my identity.
Agent Bell did not believe her.
Neither did I.
Then he told me Patricia had offered one piece of information in exchange for consideration.
“What information?”
I asked.
“The location of Simon’s backup records.”
“Where?”
“She claims there’s a storage locker registered under a company alias.”
“What’s inside?”
“She says Simon kept anything he didn’t trust Leonard or Emily to see.”
My stomach tightened.
“Does that include the trust?”
“Possibly.”
“When are you searching it?”
“A warrant request is underway.”
“Can she tell you why Simon had photographs of me?”
“She says he became obsessive about documenting you.”
“Why?”
Agent Bell paused.
“Because Simon believed there was a document your grandfather gave your mother before he died.”
“What document?”
“She won’t say.”
“Why not?”
“She claims she doesn’t know exactly.”
I nearly threw the phone.
Then Agent Bell continued.
“But she knows what Simon believed it contained.”
I waited.
“A numbered account.”
“What kind of account?”
“Offshore.”
My heart started pounding.
“How much money?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“Because Simon believed it contained the missing money from Marlowe Asset Strategies.”
Fourteen million dollars.
Missing for twenty-five years.
I stared at my mother.
Agent Bell’s next sentence made everything worse.
“Rachel, Patricia says Simon never wanted the eleven-million-dollar trust.”
“Then what did he want?”
“The account number he believed was hidden in your family.”
I looked around my childhood kitchen.
At the cabinets.
The old clock.
My grandfather’s framed photograph.
The house where I had grown up.
A home Simon had visited dozens of times.
Then I remembered something.
Last Christmas.
Simon had disappeared during dinner.
For almost forty minutes.
He said he was sick.
I had found him coming down the stairs.
At the time, I thought nothing of it.
Now I looked toward the hallway.
My old bedroom was upstairs.
So was the cedar chest my mother had given me when I turned eighteen.
The cedar chest that had once belonged to my grandfather.
I stood.
My mother stared at me.
“What?”
I didn’t answer.
I ran upstairs.
The cedar chest was still there.
I opened it.
Blankets.
Old yearbooks.
Letters.
Photographs.
Nothing obvious.
Then I noticed scratches near the bottom.
I pulled everything out.
The wooden base lifted.
Underneath was a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
Rachel.
My mother gasped from the doorway.
“I’ve never seen that.”
The envelope was old.
Yellowed.
Still sealed.
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
My grandfather’s handwriting covered half of it.
At the bottom was a string of numbers.
And one sentence.
If Evelyn ever finds out you have this, do not trust Patricia.
Behind us, someone clapped once.
Slowly.
May you like
I turned.
Simon was standing in the bedroom doorway.
