I look at Gracie. “Is it a federal offense to open someone’s mail if they tell you to open it in the past?”
She shrugs. “No clue. Open it anyway.”
I open the letter. Gracie takes the phone from me and quickly types out the letter into the chat. She’s a much faster phone typist than me.
The letter is short, and it’s from a lawyer named Rebecca Guerre. It states that there’s an anonymous trust being held for Jayesh Hoque, which he can access only on, or after, his twentieth birthday. It says he must bring government-issued ID and proof of enrollment in an accredited university (unless extenuating circumstances don’t allow him to be in school), as the trust is intended to offset his education expenses. There’s an expiry date—the letter says if he doesn’t claim the fund within six months of his birthday, he’ll forfeit it.
“Here’s our motive,” I say. Money. I take the phone back from Gracie.
Aleeza:Did you know about this?
Jay:No, not at all. Should I ask my mother? She might know.
Aleeza:You’re not supposed to have the letter yet. You can’t ask.
“When’s his birthday?” Gracie asks.
“April 10.” That’s less than two weeks away for us. But Jay won’t be able to claim this trust because he’s gone. He was already gone when this letter was mailed. I wonder if the lawyer was aware of that.
“We should call the law office,” Gracie says. “Maybe there’s something the lawyer can tell us.”
I look at the time. It’s past seven now. “Tomorrow?”
Gracie nods. “Shit. I have plans with Aster tonight.” She smiles, her eyes full of sympathy. “Should I cancel? Do you need me tonight? Or maybe you want to come with us? We’re going for noodles.”
I shake my head. “No, you go. I’ll grab dinner next door and stay here with Jay.”
She chuckles. “Now I get why you never want to leave this room. Tell Jay we got him. We’ll figure this out.”
I nod. It’s been a long day. I’m tired and drained. But more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it. And also, it’s a huge relief to have a friend who knows what’s going on. I’m feeling a little bit less alone tonight.
NINETEEN
That night, Jay and I don’t watch a movie. Instead, we talk about all the things we learned today.
First, the Bright-Knowles Award. There is no website for the award, so it’s impossible to see who won the scholarship in years past.
Jay:I don’t know why Manal would think there’s anything fishy about the award. She can’t be jealous. She herself got a huge art award.
Aleeza:She said it doesn’t normally go to people who grew up where you did.
Jay:It’s a scholarship for people from Toronto. How can we find out who else got it?
Aleeza:Give me a second. I’m looking up the name of the award on LinkedIn. Maybe people put it on their resumes.
Jay:See? This is why you’re the research queen.
Bingo. I find four people who list the award on their résumé. I write the names out for Jay.
Aleeza:Andersen Taggart IV, Ashling Weston, Cassidy Preston, Braden Albright.
Jay:Does the guy’s resume really say IV?
Aleeza:Yep.
Jay:Those are the whitest names I’ve ever heard.
Aleeza:Do you think that’s what Manal meant when she said people not like us?
