Chapter 3: The Letter Her Mother Left Behind
Tasha read the letter three times before she could speak.
We were sitting inside a small coffee shop near the community center, sharing a table beside a window fogged by the warmth of the room. She had ordered tea she hadn't touched. I had bought a hot chocolate with the last twelve dollars in my birthday purse.
Outside, cars moved through the afternoon traffic.
Inside, Tasha held her mother's letter with both hands.
"Read it to me," I said.
She shook her head.
"I can't.""
"Why not?""
"Because if I read it out loud, it becomes real.""
I reached across the table and touched her wrist.
"It already happened, Tash. Reading the letter won't make it worse.""
She closed her eyes.
Then she began.
"'Dear Tasha, if you are reading this, I may no longer be here to answer your questions. I want you to know that everything I have arranged is meant to give you choices. Not to control you, and not to make you dependent on anyone.''"
Tasha's voice broke on the final word.
She stopped and stared at the paper.
I waited.
After a moment, she continued.
"'The trust was created for your education, your first home, and your future independence. I have appointed a professional trustee to oversee the funds. Your father may act as your guardian, but he is not entitled to use the trust's assets for his personal benefit.''"
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"She specifically wrote that?""
Tasha nodded.
"Listen.""
She read the next paragraph.
"'Any withdrawal or transfer outside the purposes described in the trust must be documented and approved according to the trust agreement. Please do not let anyone convince you that asking questions makes you disloyal. It does not. The money is there to protect your future, and you have every right to understand how it is being managed.''"
Tasha lowered the letter.
For a moment, the only sound between us was the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.
Then she whispered, "She knew.""
"She knew what?""
"That someone might tell me I was being disloyal for asking about the money.""
My stomach twisted.
Marcus had used those exact words in different forms for years.
You should trust your father.
Your mother would want you to respect me.
Why are you questioning everything I do?
The letter didn't prove he had broken the law. It didn't explain every transaction or establish exactly who had authorized the dealership payment.
But it proved something important.
Tasha had not imagined her right to ask questions.
Her mother had anticipated the need to protect that right.
"Who is the professional trustee?"" I asked.
Tasha searched the remaining pages.
"I don't know.""
"There's a name somewhere.""
She flipped through the papers until she found a paragraph near the bottom of the second page.
"Here. Daniel Mercer. It says he's the trustee and that the law firm handled the original documents.""
"Then we call him.""
Tasha looked uncertain.
"What if Dad finds out?""
"He already knows we saw the notice.""
"What if he cuts me off?""
I wanted to promise that wouldn't happen.
I wanted to tell her our father would calm down, apologize, and return every dollar.
But I had spent too many years confusing what I wanted to be true with what actually happened in our house.
So I gave her the only honest answer I could.
"Then we'll figure out what to do next.""
She stared at me.
"You might lose your car because of me.""
I almost laughed.
"Tasha, I threw the keys at him.""
"You didn't have to.""
"Yes, I did.""
"No, Maya. You could have taken the car and helped me privately.""
I thought about that.
She was right about one thing. I could have stayed quiet, accepted the SUV, and tried to help her behind the scenes.
That would have been easier.
I could have kept my bedroom, my phone, my comfortable life, and my parents' approval.
But every time I looked at the car, I would have known where the money might have come from.
"I should have spoken up sooner," I said.
"I can't change that. But I'm not going to pretend I didn't see what happened today.""
Tasha's eyes filled again.
"You were always the one they chose.""
"I know.""
"They bought you everything.""
"I know.""
"I used to hate you for it.""
The admission landed between us.
I looked down at my untouched hot chocolate.
"Sometimes I thought you hated me.""
"I did. A little.""
She gave a sad smile.
"Then I'd see you coming home from school, excited about some new thing, and I'd feel horrible because none of it was your fault.""
"I should have noticed.""
"You were seventeen.""
"So were you once.""
She looked away.
For a moment, we were two sisters sitting across from each other, finally speaking honestly about a family that had taught us to compete for things neither of us should have had to fight for.
Then I took out my phone.
"Let's call the law firm.""
Tasha nodded.
We searched the name on the letter and found the firm's number. After several rings, a receptionist answered.
"Good afternoon, Mercer and Cole. How may I direct your call?""
Tasha sat up straighter.
"Hello. My name is Tasha Brooks. I'm calling about a trust my mother established before she died. Daniel Mercer is listed as the trustee.""
"One moment, please.""
We waited.
A minute later, a man answered.
"Ms. Brooks? This is Daniel Mercer.""
Tasha gripped the edge of the table.
"Yes. Thank you for speaking with me.""
"Of course. I remember your mother's estate. How can I help you?""
She looked at me.
I nodded.
"I received a bank notice showing a transfer from the trust to an automobile dealership," she said.
"The amount was forty-nine thousand eight hundred dollars.""
There was a pause.
"Can you tell me the date of that transaction?""
Tasha read it from the notice.
Another pause followed.
Longer this time.
"Ms. Brooks," Mr. Mercer said, "I'm going to ask you a few questions. Are you somewhere private?""
"We're in a coffee shop.""
"Is anyone with you?""
"My stepsister, Maya.""
"Is your father present?""
"No.""
"Good. I want to be careful about what I discuss until I've verified your identity and reviewed the relevant documents. But I can tell you this: I would not assume that a transaction involving the trust was authorized simply because someone in your family requested it.""
Tasha's face tightened.
"Can you tell me if the money is still there?""
"I can't give you a reliable answer without reviewing the current records. I can arrange a meeting and explain what information you're entitled to receive.""
"How soon?""
"Tomorrow morning, if you can come to my office.""
Tasha looked at me, then back at the phone.
"Yes. I can.""
"Bring the bank notice and the letter from your mother. Do not alter either document. If you have other statements or correspondence concerning the trust, bring those as well.""
"All right.""
"And Ms. Brooks?""
"Yes?""
His voice became more serious.
"Please do not sign anything concerning the trust until you've had independent legal advice.""
Tasha went very still.
"Has someone prepared something for me to sign?""
"I don't know. I'm advising you generally until I can examine the records.""
After the call ended, we sat in silence.
Then Tasha whispered, "He sounded worried.""
"He sounded careful," I replied.
"Is that good?""
"I don't know.""
For the first time that day, she took a sip of her tea.
It had gone cold.
We left the coffee shop shortly before sunset. Tasha called a friend from work and asked whether she could stay overnight. The friend agreed, but when Tasha tried calling our mother, the call went straight to voicemail.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
"Where are you?"" she demanded.
"Out.""
"Don't be smart with me, Maya. Your father and I have been trying to reach you.""
"I didn't get any calls.""
"Because you turned your phone off.""
"I didn't.""
She exhaled angrily.
"Come home. Both of you.""
"Tasha is staying with a friend tonight.""
"Absolutely not.""
"She's nineteen, Mom.""
"She is my husband's daughter, and this is a family matter.""
"Then why are you trying to control where she sleeps?""
There was a sharp silence.
When Mom spoke again, her voice was lower.
"Your father is very upset.""
"I'm sure he is.""
"You've humiliated him in front of everyone.""
I looked at Tasha.
She was watching me carefully.
"Mom, did you know he used Tasha's trust to pay for my car?""
"I knew there was a temporary financial arrangement.""
"Did you know she had been told the money was gone?""
Another silence.
Then Mom said, "You don't understand the pressures your father has been under.""
"That isn't an answer.""
"He has worked hard for this family.""
"And Tasha has worked hard, too.""
"Don't start again.""
"I'm asking you a question.""
Mom's voice sharpened.
"Your stepfather has given you everything. He has paid for your school, your clothes, your phone, your activities. He was trying to do something wonderful for you, and you threw it back in his face.""
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The familiar list.
The gifts.
The money.
The debt I had never agreed to owe.
"What if I told you I don't want a car bought with money that was supposed to help Tasha go to college?""
"Then I would tell you to stop being dramatic.""
"What if the money wasn't his to spend?""
"Your father is handling it.""
"That doesn't mean it's right.""
Mom's voice went cold.
"Come home tonight, Maya. We will discuss your behavior, and you will apologize.""
"Will Tasha get an apology?""
"Goodbye, Maya.""
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Tasha lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said.
I turned toward her.
"For what?""
"For making your birthday horrible.""
I shook my head.
"You didn't do that.""
"But—"
"Tasha, look at me.""
She did.
"The birthday was already horrible for you. I just finally saw it.""
She pressed her lips together.
Then she hugged me so tightly that I could feel her trembling.
We stayed that way for a long time.
Later, at her friend's apartment, I sat on the edge of a guest bed while Tasha arranged her papers on a small desk.
She had found another document in the envelope.
It was a copy of a trust summary dated six years earlier.
The first page listed the original balance.
The second described the conditions for withdrawals.
The third contained a handwritten note in her mother's familiar blue ink.
Tasha picked it up.
"Mom used to write notes on everything," she said softly.
I moved closer.
The handwriting was uneven, as if her mother had been tired when she'd written it.
For Tasha, when she's old enough to understand: never confuse love with obedience. The people who truly care about you won't ask you to surrender your future just to prove that you trust them.
Tasha covered her mouth.
I put my arm around her.
Neither of us noticed the time passing until her phone buzzed on the desk.
A message from Marcus.
Tasha stared at the screen.
Then she read it aloud.
"Come home tomorrow morning. We need to settle this before you meet with the attorney.""
My stomach tightened.
"How does he know about the meeting?""
Tasha's face went white.
She opened another message.
This one had arrived less than a minute later.
*If you go to that office, you may discover things about your mother's estate that you aren't prepared to hear.*
Tasha looked at me.
"He knows we're going.""
I reached for the phone, but before I could say anything, another message appeared.
This time, it was from our mother.
*Maya, your stepfather has something to tell you about the money used for your birthday present. Something you need to know before you make this worse.*
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Tasha.
For the first time, I wondered whether the money was the only secret our parents had been keeping.
May you like
Because if Marcus was so certain he had done nothing wrong, why was he desperate to stop Tasha from meeting the trustee?
And what could he possibly tell me that would make me regret asking questions?
