The document showed a series of transactions from my personal savings account to a joint account held by my parents.

“We never received this money,” my father said, his voice dropping an octave.

“When your mother had her hip surgery, Andrew told us you refused to help with the co-pays.”

“He said you told him we were a financial drain on your career.”

I walked around the desk and stood beside my father’s chair.

“Look at the transit routing, Dad,” I said.

“The funds were transferred from my account to a holding account managed by Andrew.”

“He was the executor of your medical trust.”

“The money was deposited into his personal account forty-eight hours later.”

My mother covered her mouth with her hand.

A low, choked sound escaped her throat.

“We took out a second mortgage to pay those bills,” she said.

She looked up at Claire, her eyes bright with tears that did not fall.

“Claire, you told me Andrew had to take out a personal loan to help us.”

“You said he was the only one who cared if we lost the house.”