“And my mother?”
Vivien’s expression softened slightly.
“Your mother grew up poor. Really poor. Not just middle class pretending to struggle. She married your father thinking he was going to take her places, give her the life she dreamed about. When that did not happen fast enough, she decided to help it along.”
I thought about my mother’s constant anxiety about appearances, the way she obsessed over what the neighbors thought, how she always needed to have the right brands, the right car, the right address. I had assumed it was just vanity. Now I understood it was something deeper, more desperate.
“Can we get the money back?” I asked. “Is there any legal recourse?”
“That depends on where it went and whether they still have assets we can claim.” My grandmother pulled out another folder, this one containing information her attorney had already begun gathering. “I made some calls this afternoon. Your parents own the house, but it has a substantial mortgage. The car your father drives is leased. Their bank accounts show regular deposits from his salary and not much else. If they spent your trust fund, they have very little to show for it.”
The realization hit me like a physical blow. Not only had they stolen my money, they had wasted it. Poured it down drain after drain, chasing dreams and maintaining appearances.
“Even if I sued them, even if I won, there might be nothing left to recover.”
“We sue them anyway,” my grandmother said, reading my expression. “We make them face consequences even if we cannot recover all the money. We file criminal charges if necessary. We make sure everyone knows what they did.”
“That will destroy them,” I said quietly.
“Good.” There was no mercy in her voice. “They destroyed your future. Turnabout is fair play.”
But something in me hesitated. They were still my parents, despite everything. I had spent twenty-five years loving them, trusting them, believing they wanted what was best for me. Could I really be the instrument of their complete destruction?
“I see that look,” my grandmother said. “You are thinking about mercy, about family loyalty, about taking the high road. Let me tell you something, Maggie. The high road is a luxury you cannot afford. You have student loans coming due in six months. You have no savings, no safety net, nothing to fall back on if something goes wrong. Your parents took that from you. They do not deserve your mercy.”
She was right, and I knew it. But knowing it intellectually and feeling it emotionally were two different things. I picked at the pad thai, my appetite gone despite not having eaten since breakfast.
