Aunt Monica stepped closer, her voice tight. “What are those?”
“Transfers.”
My father looked at her. She looked back at him. Neither of them spoke.
Mr. Grant continued in the same calm, unhurried voice. “Over the last eleven months, Hazel’s account transferred a total of eighty-seven thousand four hundred dollars to accounts controlled by members of this family.”
My stomach tightened, the number settling into me slowly, wrongly. Eighty-seven thousand. The thirty thousand from the airport suddenly seemed much smaller against that figure, a single visible tip of something far larger sitting mostly submerged.
My father shook his head. “Those were gifts.”
“No.” Mr. Grant said it quietly, almost gently, which somehow made it land harder. “They were not documented as gifts.”
He pulled out another document. “Three transfers were labeled as medical expenses.”
My mother crossed her arms defensively. “She had medical expenses.”
“Not these.” He handed her the page. “The hospital confirmed Hazel was not receiving treatment on those dates.”
