Chapter 4 - DANIEL'S SIGNATURE
Maggie's husband had been dead for three years.
That was why Aaron's answer made no sense.
Daniel Barrymore died suddenly at forty-four after an undiagnosed cardiac condition.
He had served on the Barrymore Foundation board.
Yes.
But Cody's scholarship began eighteen months ago.
Long after Daniel's death.
“That's impossible.”
Aaron nodded.
“The approval was entered under Daniel's credentials.”
Maggie stared.
“Someone used a dead man's login.”
“Yes.”
Her stomach turned.
This was no longer just Drew overbilling Maggie.
Someone had accessed foundation systems under Daniel's identity.
“Can we trace it?”
“We are.”
Maggie stood and walked toward the window.
For three years, she had protected everything connected to Daniel.
His office.
His handwritten notes.
His old foundation account.
His laptop had remained in a drawer because she could not bring herself to wipe it.
Then she remembered.
Drew had borrowed Daniel's laptop after the funeral.
Only for one week.
She said she needed photos for the memorial slideshow.
Maggie had forgotten.
“Aaron.”
“Yes?”
“She had his laptop.”
He understood instantly.
“We need it.”
“I don't know if she still has it.”
“Do not ask her.”
Again.
No confrontation until evidence.
Maggie began to appreciate repetition.
At noon, Drew's lawyer called.
That was fast.
He claimed Maggie's abrupt cancellation of longstanding financial arrangements constituted retaliatory conduct harmful to minors.
Maggie nearly laughed.
Her own sister had already turned the birthday into a legal dispute.
Maggie's attorney, Rachel Kim, took over.
Rachel asked one question:
“Did you ever sign an agreement promising lifetime support?”
“No.”
“Any enforceable contract?”
“No.”
“Then Drew has a difficult argument.”
“What about the children?”
“We continue legitimate direct support if you choose.”
“I choose.”
“Good.”
Maggie was not ending Cody's education.
She was ending Drew's ability to turn support into status.
That afternoon the car company called Drew.
The lease would not renew under Maggie's guarantee.
Not immediate repossession.
No dramatic tow truck.
Drew had thirty days to qualify herself or return the vehicle.
She called Maggie.
This time Maggie answered.
“You're ruining my life.”
Maggie sat at the kitchen table.
Theo was upstairs.
“Your children remain covered.”
“I can't afford that car without you.”
“Then don't drive that car.”
“You told me it was fine.”
“Four years ago.”
“You can't change your mind because of a cake.”
“This isn't because of a cake.”
Drew went silent.
That scared her.
“What are you talking about?”
Maggie looked at the folder in front of her.
“I want Dad's trust records.”
Another silence.
Then:
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don't have them.”
“You're trustee.”
“The bank handles everything.”
“No.”
“Maggie—”
“Do not lie when I already know.”
Drew's voice hardened.
“So Aaron is digging through my finances now?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
Maggie interrupted.
“Where is Daniel's old laptop?”
Nothing.
Her heart sank.
“Drew.”
“I gave it back.”
“No, you didn't.”
“How would you know?”
Because Maggie knew every object left from Daniel.
Not because grief made her healthy.
Because grief had made her obsessive.
“That laptop never came home.”
Drew laughed nervously.
“You're crazy.”
There it was.
Old family weapon.
Crazy.
Dramatic.
Controlling.
Maggie said:
“Return it.”
“I don't have it.”
“If you find it, call my lawyer.”
Then she ended the conversation.
Three hours later, Drew arrived at the gate.
This time she brought Cody.
Maggie watched the security screen.
Cody stood holding a bakery box.
Drew held his shoulder.
Theo came down.
“Is that Cody?”
Maggie hesitated.
Then said:
“Yes.”
“Can he come in?”
“Not with Aunt Drew.”
Theo frowned.
Maggie called security.
“Let Cody in if his mother agrees to wait outside.”
Drew exploded at the gate.
Absolutely not.
Cody began crying.
Then something unexpected happened.
He pulled away from her.
He placed the bakery box on the ground.
And walked through the pedestrian gate alone.
Drew screamed after him.
“Cody!”
He kept walking.
Maggie met him at the door.
He was crying.
“I bought Theo a cake.”
Maggie looked down.
The box was cheap grocery-store cardboard.
Baseball decorations drawn in marker.
Cody whispered:
“I used my game money.”
Maggie's anger changed shape.
Not disappeared.
Changed.
Theo appeared behind her.
Cody looked at him.
“I'm sorry.”
Theo crossed his arms.
“You jumped on it twice.”
“I know.”
“You laughed.”
“I know.”
“My cake was custom.”
“I know.”
Cody sniffled.
“My mom said rich people don't care when stuff breaks.”
Theo looked at Maggie.
Then back at Cody.
“My mom cared.”
Cody nodded.
“I know now.”
Theo took the box.
“Okay.”
Not forgiveness exactly.
But childhood moved faster than adults sometimes deserved.
Then Cody looked at Maggie.
“My mom still has Uncle Daniel's computer.”
Maggie went completely still.
“Where?”
May you like
Cody wiped his face.
“In her closet.”
