Chapter 40 The Last Time I Called It Home
My father frowned. “Who is it?”
“I’ll get it,” Marissa said automatically, already smoothing her expression into something presentable.
She moved quickly to the door and opened it.
A man stood on the threshold. Late fifties. Steel-gray hair. Impeccably tailored suit. Leather briefcase in hand. His eyes were sharp and assessing, the kind that missed nothing.
“Good evening,” he said calmly. “Malcolm Bowen.”
Marissa blinked. “Yes?”
My father stepped closer. He recognized the name immediately. Malcolm Bowen was one of Riverton's most formidable attorneys, a senior partner at one of its top firms, not someone who arrived without notice.
“Good evening, Mr. Bowen,” dad said carefully. “How can we help you?”
“I’m here regarding the Laurent Trust,” Bowen replied.
The room went still.
“That won’t be necessary,” Marissa said quickly. “There must be some misunderstanding.”
“There isn’t,” Bowen said. “Miss Richards requested my presence.”
Dad turned toward me. “You know him?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
Marissa’s face drained of color. “Mr. Bowen, this really isn’t a good night. Perhaps another time? We can schedule something.”
Bowen didn’t acknowledge her. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and placed his briefcase on the coffee table.
“I’ve been reviewing the activity of the trust,” he said. “Specifically, withdrawals made before Ashley reached legal control. The documentation does not align with the trust’s stated purpose.”
Marissa’s hands clenched. “Those funds were used for her. Education. Clothing. Medical expenses.”
Bowen nodded once. “Some were. Others were not.”
He removed a folder from the briefcase and turned it toward dad and Marissa.
“Designer clothing,” he continued, “purchased in sizes inconsistent with the beneficiary. Luxury items unrelated to Ashley’s care. A secondary card linked to the trust, used repeatedly.”
Dad stared at the paperwork. “That can’t be right.”
“The records are very clear,” Bowen said. He flipped a page. “Mr. Richards, there was also a transfer five years ago. Labeled as a temporary loan. Fifty thousand dollars.”
Dad went pale.
“I borrowed it,” he said slowly. “The company was struggling. Payroll was at risk. It was supposed to be short-term.”
“You never repaid it,” Bowen said.
Dad opened his mouth, then closed it. “I meant to.”
Bowen continued without pause.
“When accounting for Mr. Richards’ withdrawal and Mrs. Richards’ documented spending,” he said, “approximately ninety thousand dollars has been removed from the first trust.”
Marissa shook her head. “That’s not possible. I didn’t spend that much.”
He turned to me.
“Miss Richards,” he said, “the trust scheduled to release one hundred thousand dollars to you at eighteen currently holds ten thousand.”
Marissa swayed. “Ten… that can’t be…”
Dad looked like he’d been punched.
Bowen closed the folder.
“There is also the matter of disclosure,” he added. “Miss Richards was never informed of the trust’s existence. Nor of its origin.”
Dad frowned. “Origin?”
“The trust was established by Ines Laurent,” Bowen said. “Immediately after Ashley’s birth.”
The name detonated the room.
Marissa’s hand flew to the back of the couch. Brandon went still.
Dad turned to me slowly. “You know.”
“I know,” I said. “About the trust. About the money. And about my mother.”
His voice came out hoarse. “How?”
I met his gaze without flinching.
“Does it matter?” I asked quietly.
Marissa’s face cracked, just slightly.
“An audit has been initiated,” Bowen continued. “All trust accounts are frozen pending review. Any mismanagement will be addressed legally. Miss Richards will assume full control going forward.”
He looked at Brandon and Marissa once, detached.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Then he left.
The door closed behind him.
Apple sat frozen on the couch, tears forgotten. Dad stared at the floor like he hoped it would swallow him. Marissa stood rigid, eyes locked on me.
Marissa was the first to move.
“Ashley,” she said, voice tight, “you had no right to do this. Bringing a lawyer into our home like that. Ambushing us.”
I laughed softly. Not because it was funny. Because it was obscene.
“Ambushing?” I asked. “You mean being informed that stealing from a minor has consequences?”
Dad rubbed his face with both hands. He looked older than he had an hour ago. Smaller.
“Ashley,” he said hoarsely, “I made mistakes. Terrible ones.”
“Mistakes?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “You didn’t forget to file taxes. You didn’t miss a birthday. You erased my mother. You stole from me. You handed me over to her.”
I turned to Marissa.
“You’re not my mother,” I said flatly. “You’re a mistress. A homewrecker.”
She recoiled as if I’d struck her. “How dare you speak to me like that.”
“How dare you pretend you weren’t exactly that,” I replied. “You slept with a married man. You got pregnant. You moved into a dead woman’s house and pretended to be her.”
Dad flinched. “That’s enough.”
“No.It’s not.”
He swallowed. “I lost the love of my life. I didn’t survive it well. I was drowning. You were so small. I needed help. Marissa was there. She was pregnant. I thought I was doing the best I could.”
Marissa’s face twisted as the implication landed.
“A terrible mistake,” I said softly, watching her. “Is that what she was?”
Dad looked away.
Marissa snapped, “He was mine first. I stood by him when no one else would.”
“You stood by him because it benefited you,” I said. “And you punished me because I reminded you of what you replaced.”
Her voice rose. “I did not abuse you.”
“You starved me of affection,” I said. “You isolated me. You let your daughter lie about me. You watched her hurt people and blamed me for breathing wrong. You gaslit me until I stopped trusting my own memory. Call it whatever helps you sleep.”
Dad rubbed his face again. “Ashley, please.”
I turned back to him.
“Why did you cut off my mother’s family?” I asked quietly. “They could have helped. They wanted me.”
His head snapped up, anger flashing through grief. “Because they thought I killed her.”
I held his gaze. “Did you?”
“No,” he shouted. “I loved her. I would never hurt her.”
I nodded slowly. “Then you punished me for their suspicion.”
“I was protecting you,” he said weakly.
“You were protecting yourself.”
Marissa scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I did not abuse you.”
“You humiliated me,” I replied. “Controlled what I wore. What I said. Who I was allowed to be. You stole from me. You isolated me. You set your daughter against me and smiled while she destroyed my reputation.”
Apple made a small sound from the couch. I didn’t look at her.
Marissa bristled. “I will not be spoken to like this in my own house.”
“You will repay every dollar you took from my trust,” I said. “Every cent. You have ten days.”
She scoffed. “You can’t threaten us.”
“I can,” I said. “And if you don’t, I go public. The trust. The affair. The lies. All of it.”
Brandon’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll fix it. I swear.”
“I’m not asking,” I said. “I’m informing you.”
Marissa opened her mouth again.
“Enough, Marissa,” Brandon snapped. “Just stop.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“For once,” he continued, voice shaking, “stop making this worse.”
She opened her mouth, furious.
“I said stop,” he snapped.
Silence fell.
“I’m leaving,” I said. “Tonight.”
Brandon stepped toward me, voice breaking. “Ashley, please. We can talk about this. I am sorry. I failed you. But you have to know I love you.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“I believe that you think you do,” I said quietly. “But love without protection is just a word people use to feel better about what they allowed.”
His face crumpled.
“I needed you to be my father,” I continued. “Not your guilt. Not your apologies. Not your excuses. And you chose comfort instead.”
Marissa stared at me with naked hatred, no mask left.
“You ungrateful little—”
I turned toward her.
“Say it,” I invited calmly.
Her lips trembled with rage, but she said nothing.
I turned away and went upstairs, where I opened the closet and pulled out the bags I’d packed days ago, hidden behind coats and boxes that never mattered. Documents. Clothes. The things that were actually mine.
No hesitation.
No second look.
When I walked back downstairs, Brandon was still standing where I’d left him, shoulders slumped, hands useless at his sides. Marissa was nowhere to be seen. Apple sat on the couch, silent now, watching me with wide eyes.
I didn’t acknowledge her.
Then the front door closed behind me with a soft, final click.