Chapter 6 - The Missing PageMalcolm stared at the indentation as if the dead could speak through paper.
Renee waited.
He finally said, “I destroyed the second page.”
The admission brought a strange calm over her.
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t about the money.”
“What was it about?”
“Your father.”
Renee’s anger sharpened.
“My father is dead. Stop using him as a shield.”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell me.”
Malcolm sat heavily.
“Your father had a secret too.”
Renee almost laughed.
“Convenient.”
“It’s true.”
“What secret?”
“He had been moving money.”
“From where?”
“From an account in your name.”
Her expression changed.
“I don’t have any account with my father.”
“You did.”
Renee stared.
Malcolm explained.
When Renee’s mother died years earlier, a modest life-insurance payment had been placed into a custodial investment account for Renee.
She had been nineteen.
Her father remained custodian while she was in college.
Renee vaguely remembered paperwork.
She also remembered being told that tuition and housing had consumed most of it.
“How much was originally there?”
“One hundred eighty thousand.”
Her brow furrowed.
“My tuition wasn’t anywhere near that.”
“I know.”
“How much remained when I graduated?”
“About one hundred twenty-six thousand.”
Renee’s mouth went dry.
“Where is it?”
Malcolm looked at her.
“Your father used it.”
“For what?”
“To keep the house you grew up in.”
Renee sat down.
Her father’s home had nearly been foreclosed during the recession.
She knew that.
She had never known how he saved it.
“He took my money?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Not all at once.”
“How much?”
“About ninety thousand.”
Renee stared at the carpet.
Her father.
The man whose letter now preached freedom and truth.
The man she had spent the evening turning into the moral opposite of Malcolm.
He had taken money from her too.
“Did he repay it?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-two thousand.”
“Where is it?”
“In an account.”
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have access?”
“No.”
Renee looked up sharply.
“Why?”
“Because he never completed the transfer.”
“And you know this how?”
Malcolm reached for another folder.
Renee almost laughed.
“Of course there’s another folder.”
He placed old statements on the table.
Her father’s name.
Her name.
Custodial designation.
Transfers.
The evidence was unmistakable.
Renee felt nauseated.
“When did you find these?”
“Seven weeks ago. When your father confronted me.”
“He showed you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I accused him of being a hypocrite.”
Renee looked at Malcolm.
He lowered his eyes.
“I was angry. He was calling me a thief. I told him he didn’t know what it was like to be desperate.”
Malcolm swallowed.
“He said, ‘Actually, I do.’ Then he showed me.”
Renee looked toward her father’s letter.
The perfect memory cracked.
Not shattered.
Changed.
“What did he say?”
“That taking your money was the worst thing he ever did.”
Renee’s eyes burned.
“He never told me.”
“He intended to.”
“When?”
Malcolm glanced at the lottery ticket.
“When he sent this.”
Renee looked again at the page.
M.C. KNOWS ABOUT—
“What exactly did the missing page say?”
Malcolm’s voice trembled.
“That I knew about the old account. That he had taken your money years ago. That part of the lottery winnings was meant to replace it.”
Renee stared at him.
“Why destroy that page?”
“Because after he died, I thought…”
He stopped.
“Say it.”
“I thought if you knew he had stolen from you, the ticket might become complicated.”
“How?”
“You might question whether the money was guilt.”
“It was.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“You might start looking through his finances.”
“So?”
“And find the account.”
“That sounds like something I should have done.”
“Yes.”
“Why did that scare you?”
Malcolm closed his eyes.
The answer arrived before he spoke.
Because their secrets were connected.
Renee leaned forward.
“What did you do with that account?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“Because the same bank held the credit line.”
Renee’s heartbeat accelerated.
“And?”
“Your father contacted them.”
“About my money?”
“About my fraud.”
The room became silent.
“He reported you?”
“Not formally.”
“What does that mean?”
“He asked questions. Enough questions that someone began reviewing the loan file.”
Renee stared.
“The bank is already looking at the forged signature.”
“I think so.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“When?”
“Five days before he died.”
Renee stood.
“So January isn’t the real deadline.”
“No.”
“When could the bank act?”
“Any time.”
The winning ticket lay between them like an emergency exit marked in flashing lights.
Now Renee understood Malcolm’s desperation.
He was not merely planning to use the prize before debt collectors arrived.
He was racing an investigation.
“Did Dad know the ticket had won when he contacted the bank?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he use it to pay the debt?”
“Because it wasn’t his debt.”
Renee stared at Malcolm.
Of course.
Her father had stolen from her once and spent years regretting it.
When confronted with the opportunity to rescue Malcolm by using money intended for Renee, he had refused to repeat the same sin.
That did not make him innocent.
It made him understandable.
And suddenly Malcolm became understandable too.
Not forgiven.
Not innocent.
But human.
That somehow hurt more.
Renee picked up the envelope.
“You said there was a certified-mail label.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Malcolm handed it over.
She examined the tracking number.
A delivery label had been generated.
The envelope had never entered the postal system.
“Then legally, Dad never sent it.”
“No.”
“But he intended to.”
“Yes.”
“And you found it first.”
“Yes.”
Renee looked at the lottery ticket.
“Is there anything else you destroyed?”
Malcolm answered immediately.
“No.”
She studied him.
“Anything else you hid?”
He hesitated.
Renee’s expression hardened.
He whispered, “One thing.”
She closed her eyes.
“What?”
Malcolm looked toward the desk.
“I recorded the last conversation I had with your father.”
May you like
![92 The Girl They Called Broke Was a Billionaire’s Daughter—But Her Father’s Arrival Exposed a Secret Powerful People Had Buried for Years]](https://cdn.treeiq.biz/site_590/2026/11/clone-0-0915d882-53d7-4d17-b43a-a010ca1a1068.webp)
Renee opened her eyes.
And for the first time that night, fear replaced anger completely.
Related Stories
