Daniel was waiting when I arrived at his apartment.
He didn't ask whether I had changed my mind.
One look at my face told him I hadn't.
I placed the envelope from the bank on his desk and sat down. My hands were still cold from gripping it all the way there.
"My father says my grandmother knew Evan was taking money from me."
Daniel's expression changed.
"How much?"
"I don't know."
"Did your parents say where the money went?"
"They said my grandmother helped him."
Daniel was silent for a moment.
Then he opened the drawer beneath his desk.
"I have something else."
I looked at him.
"Of course you do."
He gave me a tired look.
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like everyone has been collecting pieces of my life while I was the only person who didn't know the whole story."
He accepted that without defending himself.
Then he placed a small digital recorder on the desk.
"I interviewed someone two weeks ago."
"Who?"
"Evan's former accountant."
I stared at him.
"You found him?"
"Your father gave me the name."
I felt anger rising again.
"You knew about this too?"
"I knew there were financial records. I didn't know what they proved."
He pressed play.
A man's voice filled the room.
Older.
Careful.
"I remember the account because Mr. Bennett kept asking me how much he could move without making it obvious."
My stomach tightened.
Daniel stopped the recording.
"Do you want to hear the rest?"
"Yes."
He continued.
The accountant explained that Evan had been making small transfers from an account I believed was used only for household expenses. He had access because my mother had helped him obtain authorization.
But there was more.
Evan hadn't been acting alone.
Someone had been advising him.
The accountant said the person who contacted him most often was my grandmother.
I stared at the recorder.
"Why?"
Daniel shook his head.
"We don't know yet."
The recording continued.
The accountant described one conversation in particular. Evan had asked whether I could be removed from certain financial accounts after our marriage.
The answer had been no.
Then my grandmother had apparently suggested another route.
Make Claire believe she was irresponsible.
Make her believe she couldn't manage money.
Make her dependent.
I felt sick.
"That was the plan."
Daniel stopped the recording.
I nodded slowly.
"My mother said I was financially irresponsible."
"Yes."
"Evan said I couldn't handle money."
"Yes."
"My grandmother wanted me dependent."
"Yes."
I leaned back.
"All three of them."
Daniel didn't correct me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I noticed another folder beside the recorder.
"What's that?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Your first marriage settlement."
I opened it.
The document was dated two months after my divorce.
I remembered signing it.
I had been exhausted.
I had wanted everything finished.
I hadn't fought for anything.
Not the apartment.
Not the savings.
Not the investments.
I had simply wanted Evan gone.
Daniel pointed to a paragraph.
"Read that."
I did.
A clause stated that I had voluntarily waived any claim to several financial assets because I had allegedly contributed nothing toward their acquisition.
My face went numb.
"That's not true."
"I know."
"I worked."
"I know."
"I paid half the rent."
"I know."
I looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Bank records."
He turned the laptop toward me.
There were months of transactions.
My salary.
Rent payments.
Utilities.
Medical school loans.
Groceries.
Everything.
I had been contributing.
But the settlement claimed otherwise.
"Why did my lawyer let me sign this?"
Daniel's expression darkened.
"Your lawyer was recommended by your mother."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
I thought about the night I signed.
My mother had brought me tea.
She had told me I should stop fighting.
She had said Evan was already furious.
She had said I would only make things worse.
I had trusted her.
I had signed.
I looked at Daniel.
"How much did I lose?"
He gave me the figure.
It was enough to make my chest hurt.
I laughed softly.
"She convinced me to walk away from my own money."
"Yes."
"And then told everyone I failed because I couldn't manage my finances."
Daniel nodded.
I pushed the papers away.
"Why would my grandmother care?"
"That's the question."
I looked toward the window.
The rain had begun again.
"Maybe she didn't want me to become a doctor."
Daniel waited.
"My mother said my grandmother was afraid I'd leave the family."
"That's part of it."
"What is the rest?"
He opened another folder.
"There was a medical research program."
I frowned.
"At your university."
I looked at him.
"Your grandmother's company had invested in it."
I shook my head.
"I don't remember."
"You wouldn't."
He placed a photocopy in front of me.
It was a list of donors.
My grandmother's company was near the top.
"What did they invest in?"
"A pharmaceutical project."
I read the name.
It meant nothing to me.
Daniel continued.
"You were working on a related research project during medical school."
I looked up sharply.
"I don't remember that."
"You were a student assistant."
My memory flickered.
A laboratory.
Late nights.
A professor named Dr. Harris.
A research team.
A project involving drug resistance.
Then another memory surfaced.
My mother had visited campus.
She had been angry.
She had told me I was wasting time.
At the time, I thought she meant I was spending too much time in the lab.
Now I wasn't sure.
"Why would my grandmother care about my research?"
Daniel looked at me.
"Because your project was getting close to something the company didn't want examined."
The room went silent.
"What?"
"I don't have the complete evidence."
"Then what do you have?"
He slid another document toward me.
It was an email.
The sender was my grandmother.
The recipient was my mother.
The date was three weeks before I left medical school.
The message was short.
Make sure Claire stops asking questions about the trial.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My hands began shaking.
"What trial?"
Daniel's face was grim.
"That's what we're going to find out."
I looked at the date.
Three weeks before I left.
Three weeks before my tuition money disappeared.
Three weeks before my mother convinced me I wasn't capable of becoming a doctor.
I looked at Daniel.
"This wasn't about protecting the family."
"No."
"It was about stopping me."
"Yes."
I stood.
"Then I need to find Dr. Harris."
Daniel nodded.
"I already tried."
"And?"
"He moved overseas."
"Where?"
Daniel handed me a note.
"Boston."
I looked at the address.
Then I saw the final line.
"He agreed to meet you."
My heart began pounding.
"Why?"
Daniel's eyes met mine.
"Because he said he has something that belongs to you."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"A copy of your original research."
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
I picked up the note.
For years, I had believed my life changed because I wasn't good enough.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether someone had changed it because I was getting too close to something they couldn't afford for me to discover.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Professor Who Watched Me Leave Medical School Finally Explained What My Family Was Afraid I Would Discover
The Toast That Was Supposed to Celebrate My Future Instead Exposed the Secret My Family Had Spent Years Hiding
Part 5 of 12
