Chapter 2 - The Envelope With Her NameIrene snatched the envelope from Lila’s hand.
“You don’t touch grown-up mail.”
“It has my name.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Lila frowned.
“If it has my name, isn’t it mine?”
Irene’s expression sharpened.
“There. That.”
“What?”
“That attitude.”
Lila stared at her.
“I just asked.”
“You always just ask.”
Her grandmother shoved the envelope beneath a stack of catalogs.
“Finish the dishes.”
Lila looked toward the living room.
Her parents were still with Mason.
Her father had helped him connect the new phone to Wi-Fi.
Her mother was showing him how to transfer photos.
Nobody had seen Irene take the envelope.
Lila whispered:
“What does beneficiary mean?”
Irene went still.
“Where did you hear that word?”
“It was on the envelope.”
“It means nothing you need to understand.”
“But—”
“Lila.”
The warning was clear.
Lila turned back to the sink.
That night she could not stop thinking about the envelope.
At nine-thirty, after everyone had gone upstairs, she slipped from her bedroom.
The mansion was quiet.
She walked downstairs barefoot.
The living-room lights had been turned off.
Only the small lights beneath the kitchen cabinets remained.
The mail stack was still there.
Lila searched.
Catalog.
Electric bill.
Insurance advertisement.
Nothing.
The envelope was gone.
She checked the trash.
At the bottom beneath paper towels and coffee grounds, she saw white paper.
Lila reached in.
The envelope had been torn in half.
So had the pages inside.
She pieced together what she could on the kitchen floor.
Most words meant nothing to her.
Whitmore Family Trust.
Subtrust: Lila.
Current Principal Balance: $2,184,611.
Lila stared at the number.
She counted the commas.
Two million?
That couldn’t be right.
Maybe she was reading it wrong.
Another torn section showed:
Trustee: Irene Whitmore
Another:
Annual Beneficiary Accounting.
A fourth piece listed withdrawals.
Private education.
Housing support.
Medical.
Activities.
Lila knew one thing immediately.
She did not attend private school.
Mason did.
Her stomach tightened.
She heard a floorboard creak.
Lila quickly pushed the pieces beneath her pajama shirt.
Irene appeared at the edge of the kitchen.
“What are you doing down here?”
Lila froze.
“Water.”
Irene looked at the empty glass beside the sink.
Then at Lila.
“Go back to bed.”
Lila nodded.
She walked away.
“Lila.”
She stopped.
Irene’s voice became quiet.
“Some things belong to adults.”
Lila turned.
“Even if my name is on them?”
Irene’s face hardened.
“You’ve already caused enough trouble.”
There it was again.
Bad kid.
Trouble.
But Irene still refused to explain why.
Lila went upstairs.
She hid the torn pieces inside the hardcover dictionary on her desk.
The next morning, Irene was unusually cheerful.
She made pancakes.
She gave Mason extra strawberries.
She asked Lila whether she had slept well.
Lila said yes.
Then Irene smiled.
“Good. Because we’re going to forget yesterday’s little attitude problem.”
Lila looked at her mother.
Her mother was reading emails.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“What’s a beneficiary?”
The fork slipped from Irene’s fingers.
Their father looked up.
Their mother slowly lowered her phone.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I got a letter.”
Silence.
Irene recovered first.
“Spam.”
Lila shook her head.
“It said Whitmore Family Trust.”
Her mother’s face drained of color.
Her father frowned.
“What trust?”
Irene looked sharply at her daughter.
“Don’t.”
Lila saw it.
Her mother knew.
Her father apparently didn’t.
Lila continued:
“It said my balance was two million dollars.”
Mason stopped eating.
“What?”
Their father looked at Irene.
“What is she talking about?”
Irene stood.
“A child rummaged through private financial correspondence. That is what she’s talking about.”
Lila’s father’s expression changed.
“You said it was addressed to her.”
“It was a routine statement.”
“From what?”
Irene stared at him.
Their mother whispered:
“Dad left accounts for the children.”
Lila’s father slowly turned toward his wife.
“Your father?”
She nodded.
“For both kids?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Their mother didn’t answer.
Irene stepped in.
“This is exactly why Henry wanted financial matters kept away from children.”
Their father ignored her.
“How much?”
Their mother looked toward Mason.
Then Lila.
“About two million each when Dad died.”
Mason’s new phone sat beside his breakfast plate.
Lila stared at it.
Then at her mother.
“If we both have the same…”
She swallowed.
“…why does Grandma say Mason deserves things and I don’t?”
No one answered.
May you like
But Irene’s silence told Lila there was an answer.
And it had nothing to do with whether she had been good.
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