She doesn't need $85,000 for experimental therapy when she is going to pass away by winter anyway.
Later that morning, during the shift change chaos, Gideon slipped into my room. He looked tired, his mechanic’s uniform still smudged with grease. He nodded at Finch, then sat on the edge of my bed.
“Hannah,” he started, his voice a low rumble. “I know this is a lot.”
He glanced at Finch, who had been reviewing some of Ward’s probate filings.
“There’s something else,” Gideon said. “Something I did years ago, hoping I’d never need it.”
He pulled a small, folded receipt from his wallet. It was from the “County Credit Union.”
“Back in 2019,” he explained, “after your grandmother passed, I put aside thirty-two thousand dollars.”
My eyes widened. Thirty-two thousand dollars was a huge sum, more than I’d ever imagined he had.
“It’s in a dual-signature trust account,” Gideon continued, pushing the receipt into my hand. “It requires both your signature, once you turned fourteen, and mine to access it.”
He looked at me with a rare intensity. “Nora doesn’t know about it. Ward can’t touch it.”
It was a lifeline, hidden away for years, now delivered at the exact moment I needed it most. But a dual-signature trust meant I had to be considered competent.
“There’s a catch,” Finch interjected, looking up from his papers. “To access that fund without Nora’s consent, we still need to prove Ward’s primary conservatorship contract was invalid from the beginning.”
He paused. “Otherwise, as your legal guardian, Nora could still claim a right to manage it, even if she doesn’t know it exists yet.”
The relief I felt was short-lived, replaced by a fresh wave of anxiety. Another hurdle.
Hours later, the nurses had finished their rounds. Toby, my younger brother, shuffled into the room alone, his face pale. He usually burst in, demanding attention or snacks. Today, he just stood by the door.
He clutched a worn teddy bear. “Mom told me not to come.”
I didn’t say anything, just watched him.
He walked to my bed, his shoulders slumped. “Julian Ward is staying at our house.”
My stomach clenched. “What?”
“He sleeps in the guest room,” Toby whispered, his voice catching. “He’s always on the phone. And he keeps looking through Grandpa’s old stuff.”
He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “He took some of Grandpa’s old books, and that funny compass from the mantle. Said they were ‘assets to be appraised’.”
His eyes, usually bright with mischief, were filled with tears. “Mom just lets him. She laughs at his jokes, even when they’re not funny.”
Toby looked at the IV pole, then back at me. “He said you wouldn’t need them anymore.”
The heirlooms. Things that belonged to my grandfather, things that were part of our family history. Ward was already stripping away our past, piece by piece, under my mother’s nose.
Toby bit his lip. “I heard him talking on the phone yesterday. He said something about ‘the Montgomery legacy.’”
He rubbed the bear’s worn ear. “What does that mean, Hannah?”
It meant Ward wasn’t just after the house or the trust. He was after everything that made us Montgomery.
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