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I nodded and realized I had questions, now that I felt safe to ask them. I wanted to know about my godfather, the money, and what Daddy thought I should do with it. I didn’t really want anything to do with it, but it wouldn't just go away on its own.
As Daddy carried me back toward our cabin, I rested my head against his shoulder, surprisingly tired after the party. The dinosaur from my cupcake was clutched in one hand, Patches in the other.
"You did so well today," Daddy murmured, his voice rumbling pleasantly against my ear. "I'm so proud of you."
"Everyone was nice," I said softly. "And the shirts... I can't believe they all wore dinosaur shirts."
Daddy chuckled. "Jono said some of the older brothers grumbled, but not one of them refused once they understood why."
We reached the cabin, and Daddy set me down gently on the porch while he unlocked the door. Inside, the familiar comfort of our space welcomed me, but it no longer felt like a hiding place. Just home.
"Bath before bed?" Daddy asked, already moving toward the bathroom.
I nodded, but hesitated. There were questions swirling in my mind, things I needed to know now that I felt safe enough to ask.
"Daddy?" I called, making him turn. "Can we talk first? About...everything?"
Something in my tone must have signaled I wasn't asking from my Little headspace. Daddy studied me for a moment, then nodded.
"Of course. Let me make us some tea."
I settled on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me as Daddy busied himself in the kitchen. When he returned with two steaming mugs, he sat beside me, leaving a respectful distance that I quickly closed by scooting next to him.
"What's on your mind?" he asked gently.
I took a deep breath. "Harold. What exactly happened?"
Daddy's expression turned serious. "Are you sure you want to know all of it right now?"
"I need to," I insisted. "I can't move forward if I'm always looking over my shoulder, wondering."
He nodded, understanding. "Degrassi was smarter than we gave him credit for. Apparently, he'd been keeping detailedrecords of all Coombes's activities he knew about—insurance, he called it. When he died, his lawyer automatically released everything to the authorities."
"So, Harold really is going to prison? For good?"
"Yes," Daddy confirmed. "The evidence is overwhelming. Embezzlement, fraud, conspiracy to commit kidnapping, attempted murder... The DA says he's looking at twenty-five to thirty years, minimum. If he gets out, he’ll be a very poor old man."
Relief washed through me, so intense it made me dizzy. "He can't hurt us anymore."
"No, he can't," Daddy agreed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "You're safe now, Matty. We both are."
I leaned into his warmth, processing this information. "What about...the money? My trust fund?"
"That's still being sorted out," Daddy said carefully. "The forensic accountants are tracking what Harold stole, but it's going to take time. The good news is that at least half of your inheritance is still intact."
I nodded slowly, turning my mug in my hands. "I don't want it," I said quietly. "Any of it."
Daddy's arm tightened around me. "That's a big decision, little one. One you don't have to make right now."
"It's never brought me anything but pain," I insisted. "People either want to use me for it or resent me because of it."
"Not everyone," Daddy reminded me gently. "And that money could do a lot of good if you wanted it to."
I looked up at him, struck by the thought. "Like what?"
"Whatever you want," he said simply. "Charities, foundations, scholarships. You could help people who need it."
The idea settled in my mind, taking root. I hadn't considered that possibility—that the money that had been such a burden could become something positive.