Then my mother gave them $32,000.
In 1987, that was nearly everything she had.
I stared at the paper.
“Mom never had money.”
That was what I remembered.
We rented.
She drove old cars.
She clipped coupons.
When she died, there was barely enough in her account to cover the funeral.
Mr. Delgado nodded toward the documents.
“Apparently, she did once.”
My mother had inherited money after her father died.
Instead of buying a house, she invested it in Frank’s company.
Not officially.
Not intelligently, if I was being honest.
She trusted him.
The written agreement said that if Frank’s business survived, he would repay her with interest.
If he couldn’t, June would receive a 25% ownership interest in the property once construction was complete.
My mouth went dry.
“Did he repay her?”
I already knew the answer.
No.
