Chapter 4
I spent the next morning writing down everything I remembered.
Not guesses.
Dates. Conversations. Requests.
Vivian asking for my identification.
Vivian borrowing my laptop.
Vivian telling me not to ask Dad too many questions because he was under pressure.
The list grew longer than I expected.
Denise sat nearby without reading over my shoulder.
When I finished, she asked, “Do you want tea or company?”
“Both.”
She put the kettle on.
My phone rang.
Vivian.
I showed Denise the screen.
“You can let it ring,” she said.
I did.
Vivian left a message.
“Nia, this has gotten out of hand. Your father is frightened, and you know he doesn’t cope well when family members turn against one another. Please come home so we can talk properly.”
I saved it.
Then I sent it to Camille.
I did not reply.
Dad called an hour later.
He had reported the suspected unauthorized transfer to the police. A detective named Aaron Lewis would contact me.
Vivian knew about the report.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“That I was humiliating her.”
“What did you say?”
“That ninety-six thousand dollars left my account and I wanted to know why.”
I felt proud of him.
I also wondered why it had taken missing money for him to question her.
The thought made me feel guilty.
Camille later told me two feelings could exist without canceling each other.
I could be glad Dad was listening now and hurt that he had not listened before.
Detective Lewis interviewed me that afternoon.
He asked about the forms, the devices, and Harbor Lane Consulting. He did not tell me whom he believed. He asked for the emails and explained how my laptop would be examined.
I gave him permission to review information relevant to the transaction.
I wanted the truth.
I did not want to hand over my whole life without understanding why.
He respected the distinction.
Afterward, I went to work.
I was a project coordinator for a design firm. My manager knew I was dealing with a family matter but not the details.
I tried to review a schedule and discovered I had read the same line five times.
She came to my desk.
“Take the afternoon.”
“I don’t want to fall behind.”
“You won’t catch up by staring at the screen.”
I laughed weakly.
“You noticed.”
“I did.”
I went home to Denise’s house and slept for two hours.
When I woke, Dad was downstairs.
He had brought a box.
Inside were papers from my mother’s estate.
“I should have shown you these sooner,” he said.
I sat beside him.
My mother had left money for my education and a separate amount held until I turned twenty-five.
I would turn twenty-five in six weeks.
Vivian had mentioned that money repeatedly.
I had assumed she was helping me prepare.
Dad looked at the documents.
“She asked whether it could be moved early.”
“To whom?”
“She said you wanted it paid into a shared household account.”
“I never said that.”
“I told her I wanted to hear it from you.”
I looked up.
“When?”
“Last month.”
The room went quiet.
“So she couldn’t move that money.”
“No.”
“And then she gave me access to yours.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“We don’t know everything yet,” he said.
“No. But we know I didn’t ask for my inheritance to go into her account.”
He nodded.
I held one of the letters my mother wrote when setting up the arrangements.
She wanted me to have choices.
That was the phrase.
Choices.
I began crying.
Dad put his arm around me, slowly enough that I could move away.
I stayed.
“I should have trusted the years I knew you,” he said. “Before I trusted a screen.”
“You can still check a screen.”
“I know.”
“Just ask me like I’m a person.”
He pressed his lips together.
“I will.”
The bank called him while he was there.
It had identified that the access profile associated with my name was activated from the household internet connection. The transfer was approved through a verification process linked to a phone number.
The number was not mine.
Dad asked them to repeat it.
Then he read the last four digits aloud.
I recognized them.
May you like
Vivian’s second phone.
The one she said she used only for work.
