Chapter 2 - Nine Withdrawals and One Very Old Lie
I read the first withdrawal three times.
Eight thousand dollars.
The description said event services deposit.
I looked at Ruth.
“Seven months ago?”
“Yes.”
“Deline wasn’t engaged seven months ago.”
“She was.”
“No. Grant proposed five months ago.”
Ruth’s eyes narrowed.
“Officially?”
I sat back.
“I don’t know.”
“That answer may matter.”
I pushed the papers away.
“What exactly was this trust?”
Ruth opened another folder.
“Opal created it six years before she died.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
She turned the document toward me.
“It was designed as a legacy and preservation trust.”
“Preservation of Halloway?”
“Partly.”
I read the language.
Maintenance.
Repairs.
Education.
Emergency support.
Distribution to me at thirty-five.
Mom remained trustee until then.
I looked up.
“She controlled it?”
“She administered it.”
“That sounds like control.”
“It came with fiduciary duties.”
“Which means?”
“She could spend money only for purposes benefiting you under the trust terms.”
I touched the transaction list.
“A wedding for Deline doesn’t benefit me.”
“No.”
“Could she argue it does because it’s happening at Halloway?”
Ruth’s mouth tightened.
“She can argue anything.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
I looked again.
Sixty-one thousand, four hundred twenty dollars had been in the account fourteen months earlier.
Eight hundred forty remained.
“Did Opal know Mom would control it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would she do that?”
Ruth did not answer immediately.
“Because when the trust was created, your mother was different in one important respect.”
“How?”
“She still believed Opal was watching.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
I looked toward the window.
“Did Grandma distrust her?”
“Your grandmother distrusted entitlement.”
“That’s a diplomatic answer.”
“I’m an attorney.”
“Ruth.”
She sighed.
“Opal loved Evelyn.”
“I know.”
“She also knew your mother had spent most of her life confusing fairness with equal access to whatever someone else possessed.”
I gave a humorless laugh.
“That sounds like Mom.”
“Opal believed responsibility might discipline that instinct.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
I pointed at the withdrawals.
“Can we prove these paid for Deline’s wedding?”
“Some of them.”
“Which ones?”
She slid a page toward me.
“Hartwell Tent and Rental.”
“That’s my tent company.”
“I know.”
“Blue Finch Catering.”
“My caterer.”
“I know.”
“Lark & Linen.”
“My linens.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“They’re not just using the same companies.”
“No.”
“They’re using my contracts.”
“Possibly.”
“Why possibly?”
“Because I haven’t seen the contracts yet.”
“Can we get them?”
“Probably.”
I picked up my phone.
“I’ll call.”
Ruth stopped me.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“I’m doing surprisingly well.”
“That is what worries me.”
I stared at her.
She continued.
“You need to decide what you want before you start collecting ammunition.”
“I want my wedding back.”
“Good.”
“I want my house left alone.”
“Good.”
“I want every dollar returned.”
“Reasonable.”
“I want my mother to stop treating my life like storage space for Deline.”
Ruth leaned back.
“That one is not a legal remedy.”
“No.”
“It may be the most important.”
I looked down.
“What happens if she misused the trust?”
“She could be removed as trustee.”
“She should be.”
“She could be ordered to restore the funds.”
“She should be.”
“And depending on how the withdrawals were represented, there could be additional consequences.”
“Criminal?”
“Potentially.”
I went still.
Despite everything, the word made me sick.
Ruth noticed.
“You don’t have to decide that today.”
“I don’t want my mother arrested eleven days before my wedding.”
“Then don’t make decisions based on an image you have not reached.”
“What should I do?”
“Collect facts.”
I looked at her.
“And say nothing?”
“Can you?”
I thought about my childhood.
“I’m highly trained.”
Ruth almost smiled.
“Opal used to worry about that.”
“What?”
“Your ability to tolerate.”
My eyes stung unexpectedly.
“She praised me for being patient.”
“No.”
Ruth shook her head.
“Other people praised you for that.”
“What did Grandma call it?”
“Disappearing politely.”
I laughed once.
Then I covered my mouth.
Ruth gave me a tissue.
“I’m not crying.”
“Of course not.”
“I hate attorneys.”
“I know.”
I took the tissue.
“Did Opal ever say why she transferred Halloway to me while she was alive?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That she wanted at least one decision to survive her funeral.”
I closed my eyes.
That sounded exactly like her.
My phone buzzed.
Mom.
I let it ring.
Ruth glanced at the screen.
“Progress.”
“She’ll call again.”
The phone rang again before I finished speaking.
Ruth raised one eyebrow.
I answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“Out.”
“Deline needs your bedroom emptied.”
I thought I had misheard.
“My bedroom?”
“At Halloway.”
“Why?”
“It has the best natural light.”
“For what?”
“Getting ready photographs.”
“That’s where I’m getting ready.”
A pause.
“Not anymore.”
I looked at Ruth.
Ruth’s face went absolutely still.
Mom continued.
“We’ll put your things in the barn.”
“My clothes?”
“Just temporarily.”
“My grandmother’s dresser?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I asked what things.”
“Anything personal.”
“And where am I supposed to get ready?”
“Sweetheart.”
That word again.
“We’re postponing details about your ceremony until after Deline’s.”
“Postponing details.”
“Yes.”
“Did you postpone my wedding?”
“No one said that.”
“You just moved me out of my bridal room.”
“Because there cannot be two brides in the house on the same morning.”
“There weren’t going to be.”
Mom exhaled.
“Please don’t do this.”
“What am I doing?”
“Making every practical decision sound cruel.”
I glanced at the trust statement.
“Maybe it’s the decisions.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“Can you clear the room by tomorrow?”
“No.”
Silence.
Ruth watched me.
Mom’s voice dropped.
“What?”
“I said no.”
“Yoland.”
“My belongings stay where they are.”
“Deline needs the room.”
“Then Deline needs another room.”
“You told her you would help.”
“I did.”
“This is helping.”
“No.”
Mom went quiet.
Then she changed tactics.
“Are you still upset about the date?”
“I’m not discussing that right now.”
“You know Deline never meant to hurt you.”
“I didn’t say she did.”
“She admires you.”
“Mom.”
“She does.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I have to go.”
She sounded stunned.
“You called me.”
“No, you called me.”
Another silence.
“Fine.”
She hung up.
Ruth waited.
I placed the phone on her desk.
“My hands are sweating.”
“That happens.”
“Over saying no to a bedroom.”
“It wasn’t about a bedroom.”
“No.”
I looked at the trust records.
“It never is.”
Ruth called three vendors that afternoon.
The first refused to release anything without authorization.
The second recognized my name immediately.
Blue Finch Catering.
A woman named Celia answered.
“Yoland? I was actually going to call you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“There were changes to your event.”
“Changes made by whom?”
A pause.
“Evelyn.”
Ruth mouthed, speaker.
I tapped the button.
Celia continued.
“She said you’d agreed to transfer your package to Deline.”
“When?”
“About six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get anything from me?”
“No.”
“An email?”
“No.”
“A signature?”
“No.”
“She just told you?”
“She had your event code.”
I looked at Ruth.
“How?”
“I assumed you gave it to her.”
I thought back.
Mom had asked to see my vendor binder after Christmas.
She said she wanted to know what still needed paying.
I had handed it over.
“Celia, did she change the menu?”
“Yes.”
“To what?”
“Sea bass, filet, asparagus, truffle potatoes.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s Deline’s menu.”
“I understand that now.”
“What was mine?”
“Roast chicken, herb potatoes, garden vegetables.”
“And lemon cake.”
“That’s through the baker, but yes.”
I swallowed.
“Did Mom pay anything?”
“She paid the upgrade deposit.”
“From what account?”
“I can’t disclose bank details.”
Ruth spoke.
“Ms. Ainsworth, counsel for Ms. Thatcher.”
Celia became more cautious.
“If you send a written request, I can release the payment receipt.”
“We will.”
I leaned toward the phone.
“Celia?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t cancel anything yet.”
“Your package?”
“Anything.”
Ruth looked at me.
Celia asked, “What is happening?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
After the call, Ruth said, “Six weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Not three days.”
“No.”
“She had your event code.”
“I gave Mom my binder.”
“Why?”
I laughed bitterly.
“Because she said she wanted to help.”
Ruth leaned back.
“Do you think Deline knew?”
“Yes.”
“That was quick.”
“She printed save-the-dates.”
“That proves she knew before three days ago.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t prove she knew about the trust.”
I stopped.
That distinction mattered.
I did not want it to.
“You’re defending her.”
“I’m separating facts.”
“I know my sister.”
“Then know her accurately.”
I hated that phrase because it sounded like Opal.
Ruth continued.
“She may have knowingly stolen your date and still not know where the money came from.”
“That doesn’t make the first part okay.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
I stood.
“I need air.”
Outside Ruth’s office, I called Owen.
He answered immediately.
“Tell me.”
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“Mom planned this before the venue problem.”
“How long?”
“At least six weeks.”
“Jesus.”
“And she used my trust.”
Silence.
“What trust?”
“Opal left me money.”
“How much?”
“Sixty-one thousand.”
“And?”
“Eight hundred forty is left.”
Owen did not speak.
“Owen?”
“I’m here.”
“She took it.”
“All of it?”
“Almost.”
“For Deline?”
“Vendor payments.”
His breathing changed.
“Come home.”
“I’m okay.”
“I didn’t ask whether you were okay.”
“I need to do one thing first.”
“What?”
“Go to Halloway.”
“Why?”
“Mom wants my room emptied.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“You’re working.”
“Not anymore.”
“Owen.”
“Yoland.”
I closed my eyes.
“Fine.”
We arrived within five minutes of each other.
Mom’s SUV was already outside.
So was Deline’s.
I opened the north gate.
The brass key turned with one heavy click.
Owen looked at it.
“You’re keeping that on you now.”
“Yes.”
We walked into the house.
My grandmother’s foyer smelled faintly of lemon polish and old oak.
Then I heard Deline upstairs.
“Put those boxes by the barn door.”
I froze.
Owen’s jaw tightened.
We climbed the stairs.
Two hired movers stood outside my bedroom.
One carried a box of my clothes.
Deline stood inside wearing sunglasses on top of her head.
She looked at me.
“Oh.”
I walked to the mover.
“Please put that back.”
He looked at Deline.
Then at me.
Deline sighed.
“Yol.”
I repeated, “Please put it back.”
The mover did.
Mom came out of the adjoining room.
“There you are.”
“Why are strangers touching my things?”
“Because you refused to cooperate.”
Owen stepped beside me.
Evelyn’s expression changed.
“Owen.”
“Evelyn.”
“This is family business.”
He looked around.
“I’m marrying into the family in eleven days.”
Mom smiled thinly.
“That remains to be seen.”
I felt Owen go rigid.
I turned to him.
“Don’t.”
He looked at me.
I shook my head once.
Then I faced Mom.
“Everyone leaves my room.”
Deline folded her arms.
“Where am I supposed to get ready?”
“Not here.”
“It’s one morning.”
“It’s my wedding morning.”
“Which Mom said you’re moving.”
“No.”
Mom stepped forward.
“We haven’t finalized anything.”
“I have.”
Her face hardened.
“Yoland, stop.”
“No.”
Deline laughed in disbelief.
“Where is this coming from?”
I looked at her.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re acting insane.”
Owen took one step forward.
I touched his hand.
He stopped.
I looked at the movers.
“Please leave.”
One of them asked, “Who’s responsible for payment?”
Mom answered.
“I am.”
I said, “And I’m the owner of the property.”
Everything stopped.
Not for long.
Maybe two seconds.
Mom laughed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Deline rolled her eyes.
Owen looked at me sharply.
I realized what I had done.
Not the full truth.
Not yet.
But enough.
Mom waved at the movers.
“She means she manages the house.”
“No,” I said.
Her eyes snapped to mine.
I did not continue.
Deline frowned.
“What does that mean?”
I picked up my box.
“It means my things stay.”
Mom’s face had gone pale.
Not because she understood.
Because for the first time, she suspected there was something she did not.
“Yoland.”
I walked into the bedroom.
“Everyone out.”
Mom did not move.
Neither did Deline.
Owen stood at the door.
Finally the movers left.
Deline followed them.
Mom stayed.
She closed the bedroom door.
“What have you been doing?”
I set the box on the bed.
“What do you mean?”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
Her mouth opened slightly.
It was almost fascinating.
The word seemed to shock her fresh every time.
“You are behaving very strangely.”
“Maybe.”
“Did Ruth call you?”
There.
A clue.
I kept my face still.
“Why would Ruth call me?”
Mom watched me.
Too carefully.
Then she smiled.
“No reason.”
She opened the door.
“Just remember something.”
“What?”
“Families forgive a lot.”
I waited.
“They do not forgive public humiliation.”
I looked at her.
“Then nobody should publicly humiliate anyone.”
Her eyes narrowed.
She left.
Owen waited until her footsteps disappeared.
“She knows.”
“She suspects.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
I opened my dresser drawer.
The brass key was no longer on the windowsill where I used to leave it.
It was in my pocket.
“That difference is everything.”
That evening, Ruth emailed me the first vendor receipt.
The payment source ended in four numbers I recognized.
Mom’s trustee account.
Below it was a date.
Six weeks before Deline’s supposed venue disaster.
And beneath the payment was a handwritten notation from the planner.
TRANSFER APPROVED BY E. THATCHER — DELINE EVENT PRIORITY
I stared at the word priority.
Owen read it over my shoulder.
“She didn’t steal your wedding in eleven days.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“She’s been dismantling it for weeks.”
May you like
I touched the brass key through my pocket.
“Then we have nine days to find out how much she moved before I noticed.”
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