“Will they go to prison?”
The trustee looked at Mr. Grant.
Mr. Grant answered.
“That depends on what the investigation finds.”
Grandma nodded.
She wasn’t smiling.
She wasn’t celebrating.
She looked tired.
“I don’t want revenge.”
Mr. Grant folded his hands.
“What do you want?”
Grandma looked at me.
Then she looked out the window.
“I want the truth.”
That was all.
So the investigation continued.
The bank produced records.
The travel agency produced booking information.
The credit card company produced payment histories.
The airline confirmed there had never been a reservation under Hazel Carter.
The hotel in Paris confirmed that six rooms had been booked under my father’s corporate account.
Six.
Not seven.
The private driver had been paid in advance.
The restaurant reservations had been made weeks earlier.
And every expense had been charged directly or indirectly to money taken from Grandma.
Then investigators found something that changed everything.
Aunt Monica had emailed my father three days before the trip.
The subject line was:
MOM — DON’T LET HER COME.
The message was short.
She wrote:
If she comes, she’ll ask questions.
Richard, just tell her the ticket was lost.
She’ll be embarrassed and go home.
