Page 130 of What Goes Around

Marissa blinked. “Yes?”

My father stepped closer. He recognized the name immediately. Malcolm Bowen was one of Riverton's most formidable attorneys, a senior partner at one of its top firms, not someone who arrived without notice.

“Good evening, Mr. Bowen,” dad said carefully. “How can we help you?”

“I’m here regarding the Laurent Trust,” Bowen replied.

The room went still.

“That won’t be necessary,” Marissa said quickly. “There must be some misunderstanding.”

“There isn’t,” Bowen said. “Miss Richards requested my presence.”

Dad turned toward me. “You know him?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

Marissa’s face drained of color. “Mr. Bowen, this really isn’t a good night. Perhaps another time? We can schedule something.”

Bowen didn’t acknowledge her. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and placed his briefcase on the coffee table.

“I’ve been reviewing the activity of the trust,” he said. “Specifically, withdrawals made before Ashley reached legal control. The documentation does not align with the trust’s stated purpose.”

Marissa’s hands clenched. “Those funds were used for her. Education. Clothing. Medical expenses.”

Bowen nodded once. “Some were. Others were not.”

He removed a folder from the briefcase and turned it toward dad and Marissa.

“Designer clothing,” he continued, “purchased in sizes inconsistent with the beneficiary. Luxury items unrelated to Ashley’s care. A secondary card linked to the trust, used repeatedly.”

Dad stared at the paperwork. “That can’t be right.”

“The records are very clear,” Bowen said. He flipped a page. “Mr. Richards, there was also a transfer five years ago. Labeled as a temporary loan. Fifty thousand dollars.”

Dad went pale.

“I borrowed it,” he said slowly. “The company was struggling. Payroll was at risk. It was supposed to be short-term.”

“You never repaid it,” Bowen said.

Dad opened his mouth, then closed it. “I meant to.”

Bowen continued without pause.

“When accounting for Mr. Richards’ withdrawal and Mrs. Richards’ documented spending,” he said, “approximately ninety thousand dollars has been removed from the first trust.”

Marissa shook her head. “That’s not possible. I didn’t spend that much.”

He turned to me.

“Miss Richards,” he said, “the trust scheduled to release one hundred thousand dollars to you at eighteen currently holds ten thousand.”

Marissa swayed. “Ten… that can’t be…”

Dad looked like he’d been punched.

Bowen closed the folder.