The first page in the binder was a bank statement. I had requested it from the trust company three months earlier, and Diane’s name was nowhere on it. Under the law, only my father had ever been named as co-trustee, and the transfers had all been signed by him. My stomach turned. I had spent months assuming Diane forged everything. Now I wondered whether my own father had helped her.

I flipped to the next tab and found a letter in my mother’s handwriting, sealed and addressed to me. I had never opened it. Then my phone buzzed. It was my father. His voice was barely a whisper. “Hannah, don’t do anything yet. Please. There is something your mother wanted you to know, and I should have told you years ago.” Through the phone, I heard Diane shouting his name in the background. Then the line went dead.