“Give it to me,” I said.
“No.”
My mother stood up.
“Shane, give it back.”
He looked at her.
“You told me Dad left nothing.”
Mom’s face went pale.
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
Shane looked at me.
Then he looked at Emily.
And suddenly I knew there was more to this.
“What did Dad leave?”
Shane shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He threw the envelope onto the table.
I picked it up.
Inside was a single handwritten letter.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My father’s.
I hadn’t seen it in nine years.
I unfolded the paper.
The first sentence made my hands shake.
Michelle, if you’re reading this, it means your mother finally broke the promise she made to me.
I looked at Mom.
She covered her face.
I kept reading.
My father explained that before he died, he had discovered that Shane had accumulated serious debts.
Credit cards.
Business loans.
Private lenders.
He had been borrowing money from people and promising that our family property would eventually cover him.
My father didn’t trust him.
So he made arrangements.
The house was purchased using my divorce settlement.
But the deed was placed in my name and Emily’s.
Not Mom’s.
Not Shane’s.
Mine.
And Emily’s.
Then I reached the sentence that changed everything.
Your mother agreed to keep this from you until you were ready to understand what your brother had become.
I stopped reading.
“Mom?”
She was crying.
“Why?”
She whispered:
“Because Shane begged me.”
Shane exploded.
“You promised!”
Mom looked at him.
“I promised your father.”
“You promised me!”
“You were going to lose everything.”
Shane slammed his hand against the table.
Emily jumped.
I stood.
“Don’t scare my daughter.”
He turned toward me.
“You think you’re better than me now?”
“No.”
I held up the letter.
“I think Dad knew you better than I did.”
Silence.
Then I noticed something.
The letter wasn’t finished.
There was another page.
I turned it over.
At the bottom were six words:
There is one more thing you must know.
My heart started pounding.
And then I read the next paragraph.
My father had discovered that someone had been secretly withdrawing money from my mother’s account.
For years.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
And he had written down the name.
I looked at Shane.
He was staring at the letter.
“You knew.”
He said nothing.
I looked at Mom.
“Did you know?”
She began to cry harder.
Then she whispered:
“Not until last year.”
I looked back at the page.
The name was there.
And it wasn’t Shane.
It was Misty.
My brother’s wife.
And suddenly the mystery of my mother’s missing bank card made sense.
