My grandson pushed me into the lake. For two minutes, I fought for my life—gasping and drowning. 'Don't be so dramatic!' he laughed. Two weeks later his university fund was gone, and so was I.

Evan stumbled down the stairs in his oversized sweatpants, smelling faintly of stale cologne and late-night video games. He sauntered into the kitchen, expecting his grandmother to be quietly hovering over the stove, frying bacon or pouring his orange juice. Instead, the house was dead silent. A strange, heavy dust hung in the air.

"Dad?" Evan yelled, scratching his head. "Where’s the old lady? And where’s breakfast?"

Richard emerged from his home office, rubbing his temples with a look of mounting panic. He held a piece of pale stationery in his hand—Margaret’s parting note.

"She’s gone, Evan," Richard said, his voice trembling slightly. "She packed her bags two weeks ago while we were asleep. She left no forwarding address."

Evan scoffed, rolling his eyes as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. "Relax. She probably went off to visit one of her boring church friends in Ohio. She’ll be back when she runs out of Werther’s Originals. More importantly, did she clear out her safe? I need to transfer the deposit for my apartment lease near campus. The university housing office is breathing down my neck."

Grateful for a distraction from his mother’s sudden disappearance, Richard walked over to his laptop and logged into the family wealth portal to authorize the transfer. He clicked the bookmark, entered his credentials, and stared at the screen.

Error 404: Account Inaccessible.

Balance: $0.00.

Richard frowned, refreshing the page. He tried a second time, then a third. His heart began to hammer against his ribs. He picked up his desk phone and dialed Arthur Pendelton’s direct office line.

"Arthur! There’s some kind of glitch in the system," Richard barked, half-laughing nervously. "My mother’s trust account—the education fund for Evan—it’s showing a zero balance. Fix it, please."

On the other end of the line, there was a long, heavy sigh.

"There is no glitch, Richard," Arthur said coldly. "Two weeks ago, your mother walked into my office. She was completely lucid, entirely of sound mind, and she legally liquidated every single cent of the trust. It has been relocated to a secure, private account. She left explicit instructions that neither you nor Evan have any claim to it."

The phone slipped from Richard’s fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.

Evan, sensing the sudden shift in the room, dropped his spoon. "Dad? What is it? What’s wrong?"

Richard looked up at his son, his face pale, his eyes wide with sudden, sickening realization. "It’s gone, Evan. All of it. The tuition, the apartment, the car fund... it’s all gone."