Chapter 2
Dad stayed still for one second.
Then he walked toward the hallway.
I followed because I could not bear to let Vivian speak before I did.
The guest room door was closed. Light showed beneath it.
“Vivian,” he called.
There was a pause.
Then she opened the door.
She wore a pale robe and held her phone against her chest.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes moved from Dad to me.
I recognized the moment she understood I had told him something.
Nothing in her face gave it away to him.
Everything gave it away to me.
“Did you arrange Nia’s access to my account?” he asked.
“Yes. We discussed it.”
“With whom?”
“With you, Marcus.”
He frowned.
“No. We discussed someone helping with utilities.”
“That’s what I arranged.”
He held out the phone.
“Ninety-six thousand dollars was transferred this afternoon.”
Vivian looked at the screen.
Then she looked at me.
“Nia?”
I felt my throat close.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She spoke gently, which made it worse.
“If you made a mistake, tell us now.”
Dad turned toward me.
“I didn’t make a mistake,” I said. “I didn’t authorize a transfer.”
Vivian lowered her voice.
“She’s been upset about money lately.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You told me you were worried about your student loan.”
“I told you I was checking the interest rate.”
“And you asked about the money your mother left.”
My father’s face changed.
I had asked about my mother’s estate because Vivian suggested I should know how it was organized. Now she made that question sound like a motive.
“Dad,” I said, “please don’t let her turn ordinary conversations into this.”
Vivian stepped back as if I had shouted.
“I’m trying to help.”
“You set up the account.”
“At your request.”
“No. At yours.”
Dad raised a hand.
“Enough.”
I went silent.
He looked at Vivian.
“Get the paperwork.”
She hesitated.
“It’s in the study.”
“Bring it.”
While she walked away, Dad called the bank using the number on his card.
He did not tell them his daughter had stolen money.
He said he needed to report an unauthorized transfer and understand who could access the account.
That choice gave me my first breath of relief.
The bank representative asked him to verify his identity. Then she explained that the account could be secured while its fraud team reviewed the transfer.
Dad asked her to do it.
She also told him to preserve records and report any suspected misuse of identity.
He took notes on the back of an envelope.
I stood beside him, watching the pen move.
Those familiar hands were finally doing something other than holding evidence against me.
Vivian returned with a folder.
She placed it on the coffee table.
Inside were copies of my identification, a signed access form, and several pages I had never seen.
“That’s not all what I signed,” I said.
Vivian sighed.
“You read it before signing.”
“I read two pages. There are six here.”
“Perhaps you don’t remember.”
Dad looked up.
“Don’t answer for her.”
Vivian blinked.
It was a small sentence.
It changed the room.
He spread the documents across the table.
The first page looked familiar. The last carried my signature. Between them were authorization terms I did not recognize.
I had no idea whether they were valid, altered, or simply more extensive than Vivian had explained.
I only knew what I remembered.
“She told me I could view bills,” I said. “She said transfers required your approval.”
Dad looked at the final page.
“Did you tell her that?”
“I explained what I understood,” Vivian said.
He nodded slowly.
Then he picked up his phone again.
“I’m calling Evelyn.”
Evelyn Cole was the attorney who had helped with my mother’s estate and Dad’s business agreements.
Vivian moved closer.
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus, we can sort this out privately.”
He looked at her.
“I tried asking privately. I have three different answers.”
Evelyn listened while he explained.
She advised him to keep the account secure, preserve the original paperwork, and obtain the bank’s complete access and transaction records. She said we should avoid accusing anyone until the facts were checked.
Dad repeated that aloud.
I looked at Vivian.
She did not look back.
When the call ended, he asked where I planned to sleep.
I had moved back temporarily after my landlord sold my apartment building. My room was at the far end of the hall, opposite Vivian’s study.
For the first time, I did not want to go there.
“I’ll stay with Aunt Denise.”
Vivian’s face softened.
“You don’t have to run away.”
“I’m not running.”
Dad watched me.
“I’ll drive you.”
“I can drive.”
“I know. I want to.”
Upstairs, I packed enough for two nights. My hands shook as I zipped the bag.
I found my old laptop on the desk.
It was open.
I was sure I had shut it before dinner.
When I touched the trackpad, a bank login page appeared.
I had never opened that page on the laptop.
I called Dad into the room.
He looked at the screen.
Then he looked at the hallway.
May you like
This time, he did not ask me why my name was there.
He asked who had been in my room.
