Chương 5
“She said I know where Dad’s money went?”
Ryan nodded.
“That is exactly what she said.”
“That’s insane.”
“I told her that.”
“And?”
“She said, ‘Ask your sister.’”
I leaned back so quickly the chair legs scraped the floor.
One of the women with the laptop glanced over.
I lowered my voice.
“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“I figured.”
“You figured?”
“You looked surprised.”
“Excellent detective work.”
“Emily.”
“What?”
“I’m trying here.”
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
The coffee shop suddenly felt too warm.
Dad had died six years earlier from a heart attack in the garage while changing the oil in his truck.
There had been no dramatic hospital goodbye.
No final instructions.
No hidden envelope handed to a favorite child.
Mom had called me from the driveway because she could not remember Ryan’s number even though it had been the same for nine years.
After the funeral, there had been paperwork.
Insurance forms.
A retirement account.
A small life insurance policy.
Dad’s checking account.
His truck.
The house.
Mom had handled most of it with a financial adviser from their church named Carl Beckett.
I had gone to two meetings because she asked me to.
Ryan had gone to none.
“You remember Carl?” I asked.
“The guy with the mustache?”
“He didn’t have a mustache.”
“He absolutely had a mustache.”
“He had a beard.”
“That counts.”
“It literally doesn’t.”
Ryan stared at me.
“This is what we’re doing?”
“I’m thinking.”
I reached for my phone.
Mom was still blocked.
I opened my email instead and searched Dad’s name.
Six years of messages collapsed into dozens of funeral notices, insurance confirmations, scanned forms, and family threads I had not looked at in years.
Ryan moved his chair closer.
“Anything?”
“Maybe.”
I found an email from Carl dated three weeks after Dad died.
The subject line read Estate Documents and Next Steps.
My stomach tightened.
I opened it.
The message was brief.
Attached were a beneficiary summary, a list of accounts disclosed at the time, and instructions for transferring Dad’s retirement assets.
I scrolled.
Ryan leaned over my shoulder.
“Can you make that bigger?”
“You’re forty.”
“I can still have bad eyes.”
“You don’t.”
“Just zoom in.”
I did.
The largest item was Dad’s employer-sponsored retirement account.
One hundred eighty-seven thousand dollars.
Ryan whistled softly.
“That’s more than I remember.”
“I didn’t know the number.”
Below that was a life insurance policy for seventy-five thousand.
A checking account with eleven thousand.
A savings account with thirty-two.
The house still had a mortgage, but Dad had also carried mortgage protection insurance through work that was supposed to pay a lump sum after his death.
I stopped scrolling.
“What?”
Ryan pointed.
“That.”
I read the line twice.
Expected mortgage benefit: approximately ninety thousand dollars, pending carrier review.
My mouth went dry.
At the time Dad died, the mortgage balance had been around one hundred and twelve thousand.
I knew because I had helped Mom refinance three years later.
I had assumed the mortgage protection claim had been denied or reduced.
I had never asked.
I had been too busy helping.
Ryan sat back.
“Ninety grand.”
“Expected.”
“Still.”
“Pending review.”
“Did she ever tell you what happened?”
“No.”
“Maybe it got denied.”
“Maybe.”
He watched me.
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
I downloaded the attachment and emailed it to myself.
Then I searched for the refinance documents.
Those were easier to find.
The balance three years after Dad died had been one hundred four thousand dollars.
If a ninety-thousand-dollar mortgage benefit had actually been paid toward the loan, that balance made no sense.
Unless the claim had failed.
Or unless the money had gone somewhere else.
Ryan rubbed both hands over his face.
“Why would she tell me you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could she think you do?”
“Maybe.”
“Could Dad have told you something before he died?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Ryan noticed.
“What?”
“He asked me for money once.”
“When?”
“About two months before he died.”
Ryan frowned.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You gave Dad money without asking?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“He said he needed to cover something before Mom saw it.”
Ryan stared at me.
“How much?”
“Five thousand.”
His expression changed completely.
“Five grand?”
“I had a bonus.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“What did he need it for?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“And you just sent it?”
“He was embarrassed.”
“Emily.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He pushed his water aside.
“You pay everyone.”
I went still.
He heard himself and looked away.
“That came out wrong.”
“No.”
“Em.”
“It came out exactly right.”
I picked up my purse.
He reached across the table.
“Wait.”
“I have to go home.”
“We need to figure this out.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.”
“You didn’t even know the mortgage amount yesterday.”
“That’s fair.”
“You let me handle everything because it was easier.”
“I know.”
“And now because Mom can’t pay one month, suddenly we’re a team?”
His face reddened.
“I said I know.”
The volume of his voice rose enough that the man with headphones finally looked up.
Ryan lowered it.
“I know I let you do too much.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Since about six this morning.”
I laughed despite myself.
He did too, but only for a second.
Then he looked at the table.
“I didn’t know it was twenty-two hundred a month.”
“You never asked.”
“I thought you were helping with the mortgage.”
“I was.”
“I didn’t know about the insurance.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
He peeled another strip from the bottle label even though almost none remained.
“Melissa thought Mom was using Dad’s retirement income.”
“She gets Social Security.”
“I know that now.”
“Congratulations.”
“Can you stop hitting me for thirty seconds?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He exhaled.
“I deserved some of it.”
“Some?”
“Don’t push it.”
I sat back down.
May you like
That, more than the apology, convinced me not to leave.
Ryan had never been good at admitting fault cleanly.
