My father threw me out on my eighteenth birthday, stole the $3,000 I’d saved from working after school, and used it for my stepbrother. Nine days later, while I was digging through a restaurant dumpster for something to eat, a stranger in an expensive suit called my name and told me my supposedly dead grandfather had left me everything. But there was one condition nobody had warned me about.

I turned the page.

Attached was a withdrawal authorization signed by Thomas. In the space marked Purpose, he had written:

Medical and educational expenses for Nathaniel Brooks.

My hands went cold.

“What medical expenses?” I asked.

Eleanor stood across the desk.

“Your mother’s treatment, perhaps.”

I looked up sharply.

“You said she wanted to see Grandpa.”

“She did.”

“And my father took the money from a trust meant for me to pay for her treatment?”

“I don’t know if that is what happened.”

“Then what else could it mean?”

“Your grandfather had been told that your mother needed care. He may have created the trust so your father could use the money for that purpose.”

I stared at the authorization.

“Why would he say the money was for my education?”

“Because your father may have believed no one would approve medical expenses connected to Claire.”

The thought settled between us.