Chương 13
She was right.
The fact that Dad had lied about paying Grandma's care did not prove anything about the estate.
It proved he lied.
Nothing more.
“Does Mom have the estate statements?”
“Probably.”
“Would she show me?”
Denise laughed once.
“Not while Richard is standing next to her.”
Vanessa said, “Mom doesn't have to show anyone.”
“No,” I said.
“She doesn't.”
Vanessa looked at me carefully.
“What are you going to do?”
I hated the question because my brain already had answers.
Ask for records.
Compare transfers.
Check dates.
Build a timeline.
That was what I did professionally when numbers and stories disagreed.
But this wasn't work.
There was no audit authority.
No compliance policy.
No legal right to demand private financial records from my parents.
And I had no intention of becoming exactly what Dad accused me of being.
“I’m not doing anything,” I said.
Vanessa frowned.
“What?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we don't actually know anything about Grandma's money.”
“We know Dad lies.”
“Yes.”
“That seems relevant.”
“It is.”
I looked at her.
“But I'm not turning suspicion into fact just because I'm angry.”
Denise was quiet.
Then she said, “Good.”
The approval irritated me.
“Don't sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You sounded surprised.”
“Millie, I am standing beside a woman selling straw hats shaped like flamingos.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.”
I closed my eyes.
Vanessa started laughing.
For a few seconds, the tension broke.
It felt almost offensive.
Then Denise said, “I'm coming back.”
“Good.”
“And I am not getting into another argument with your father.”
“Also good.”
“That includes if he starts one.”
“That seems less likely.”
“Terrifying.”
She hung up.
Vanessa remained beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
After a minute, she said, “So what now?”
“Breakfast.”
She stared at me.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You just found out Dad may have lied about Grandma's money.”
“I found out he definitely lied about paying her medical expenses.”
“Close enough.”
“No.”
I walked toward the bedroom.
“Not close enough.”
She followed me to the doorway.
“Where are you going?”
“To get dressed.”
“For breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“You're weird.”
“I haven't eaten.”
“That is not the weird part.”
I pulled clothes from the closet.
Vanessa leaned against the doorframe.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You're going to anyway.”
“Do you ever get tired of being right?”
I turned.
“That sounded hostile.”
“It kind of was.”
“Why?”
“Because even now you're doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Being the careful one.”
She waved a hand vaguely.
“Evidence.
Facts.
Don't jump to conclusions.
Meanwhile, Dad has been lying to everybody for years.”
“You want me to accuse him of stealing Mom's inheritance based on one conversation?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don't know.”
She rubbed the back of her neck.
“I want you to be mad.”
“I am mad.”
“You look like you're preparing a tax return.”
I put the shirt I was holding onto the bed.
“What would make you feel better?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you want me to scream?”
“No.”
“Throw something?”
“No.”
“Then don't manage my anger for me.”
Her mouth tightened.
There it was.
The first fracture in our temporary alliance.
She looked away.
“Fine.”
“Vanessa.”
“No, you're right.”
Her tone said the opposite.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“You're scared.”
She turned sharply.
“Don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Analyze me.”
I almost apologized.
Then I stopped.
Not because I didn't owe her one.
Because the apology forming in my mouth was automatic.
A reflex designed to restore comfort before either of us understood what had happened.
“Okay,” I said.
She stared at me.
Then she exhaled.
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“I’m scared.”
Her voice went smaller.
“Because if Dad has been lying about all this, then I don't know what else is true.”
I looked at her.
She sat beside me.
For a moment, we were simply two sisters on an absurdly expensive bed while the ship rested beside an island neither of us was seeing.
“I've spent years believing you hated helping me,” she said.
“I never hated helping you.”
“You complained.”
“Sometimes.”
“You made faces.”
“I have a face.”
She laughed once.
Then her eyes filled.
“I thought you looked down on me.”
“I did sometimes.”
That startled her.
I continued before I could soften it.
“I resented you.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“For what?”
“For getting rescued without becoming responsible for the rescue.”
She looked down at her hands.
“That’s fair.”
“Not always.”
She glanced at me.
“Sometimes I resented you because you were allowed to fail.”
Her brow furrowed.
“What?”
“I wasn't.”
The words came slowly.
“If I screwed up, everyone panicked.”
“If you screwed up, everyone helped.”
Vanessa stared at me.
“I thought that meant they loved you more.”
“And I thought being trusted meant they loved you more.”
Neither of us said anything for a while.
Finally, Vanessa gave a tired laugh.
“We're idiots.”
“Apparently.”
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was Brandon.
She read the message.
“What?”
“He says Dad is at guest services trying to have your suite access changed.”
I stood so fast my knee hit the bedside table.
“What?”
Vanessa held up the phone.
“He says Dad told them you're mentally unstable and shouldn't control the family reservation.”
The anger finally arrived hot.
Not wild.
Not reckless.
Useful.
I reached for my room key and purse.
Vanessa stood too.
“Where are you going?”
“Guest services.”
She followed me.
“I’m coming.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Because this time, if he tells a story about you, he's going to have to tell it while I'm standing there.”
The elevator took too long.
Vanessa jabbed the button twice as if the second press could communicate urgency.
“That's not helping.”
“I know.”
She pressed it again.
When the doors finally opened, a couple in matching sun hats stepped out, took one look at our faces, and moved aside without comment.
May you like
We rode down in silence.
At guest services, Dad was exactly where Brandon said he would be.
