Chapter 4
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dad tearing my paycheck.
Then I heard Mom's voice.
He's been taking money from both of you for years.
I kept trying to make sense of it.
Taking what money?
I was seventeen.
Maya was fifteen.
We didn't have much.
Grandma had always been generous, but she wasn't careless with her savings.
And Dad had spent years telling us how hard he worked to support everyone.
Nothing fit together.
The next morning, Grandma called a family attorney named Denise Parker.
She'd known Denise for almost twenty years.
They spoke privately for nearly an hour.
When Grandma returned to the kitchen, her expression was serious.
“Malik, I need you to promise me something.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Don't confront your father about the briefcase.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because we don't know what's inside, and I don't want you taking risks.”
I leaned against the counter.
“But Mom said—”
“I know what she said.”
Grandma placed her hand over mine.
“We're going to handle this properly.”
Maya entered wearing her school uniform.
She looked exhausted.
“Is Dad coming back?”
Grandma took a breath.
“He needs somewhere else to stay while we work through this.”
My sister looked frightened.
“Does that mean he's not our dad anymore?”
My heart broke.
I walked over and hugged her.
“No, Maya.”
She clung to me.
“He was so mad yesterday.”
“I know.”
“What if he comes back and starts yelling?”
Grandma joined us.
“Then you let me handle it. Neither of you has to face that alone.”
Maya nodded.
But I could tell she didn't fully believe we were safe.
Neither did I.
Later that morning, Grandma contacted my employer and helped me explain what happened to my paycheck.
My manager, Mr. Collins, sounded furious.
“Your father tore it?”
I swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause.
“Malik, you worked every hour on that check.”
“I know.”
“We'll stop payment on the damaged check and arrange a replacement.”
Relief rushed through me.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
I nearly cried again.
“Thank you.”
“You earned it, son.”
Those four words meant more than he probably realized.
After the call, I sat alone at the kitchen island.
I thought about all the times Dad had told me I was lazy.
All the times he'd said I wouldn't survive without him.
And now my manager, a man who barely knew me, had shown more pride in my work than my own father.
I didn't know what to do with that pain.
At noon, Grandma's attorney arrived.
Denise Parker was a tall woman in her fifties, with short silver-streaked hair and a calm voice.
She greeted us warmly.
Then she asked Grandma to bring the property documents.
I watched them spread papers across the table.
The deed.
Insurance records.
Bank statements.
Grandma had started gathering everything after the confrontation.
Denise examined the documents carefully.
Finally, she looked up.
“Evelyn, have you authorized Marcus to manage your financial accounts?”
Grandma nodded.
“He helps with online payments.”
“Does he have access to your passwords?”
“Yes.”
Denise's expression tightened.
“Have you reviewed your transactions recently?”
Grandma looked embarrassed.
“Not as closely as I should have.”
I watched Denise open a bank statement.
She circled several transactions.
“These withdrawals appear unusual.”
Grandma leaned closer.
“How unusual?”
“Repeated transfers to an account I don't recognize.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
Denise added several amounts.
Then looked at Grandma.
“More than eighteen thousand dollars over the last six months.”
Grandma went completely still.
I stared at the paper.
Eighteen thousand dollars.
Dad had been telling us the family couldn't afford school trips.
He had refused to replace Maya's broken laptop.
He had complained whenever Grandma bought groceries.
And all that time, money had been leaving her account.
Grandma spoke softly.
“I didn't authorize those transfers.”
Denise nodded.
“Then we need to notify the bank immediately and review the account access.”
I felt sick.
“Is Dad stealing from Grandma?”
Denise chose her words carefully.
“We have suspicious transactions. We need evidence before deciding exactly what happened.”
Grandma looked at me.
Her eyes were full of pain.
I reached for her hand.
For once, I was the one trying to comfort her.
That afternoon, Mom called again.
She'd arranged time off work and was driving toward Atlanta.
I could hear the excitement and fear in her voice.
“Malik, I'm bringing the letters I kept copies of.”
My throat tightened.
“Okay.”
“And I spoke with my attorney.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to make sure seeing you and Maya doesn't create more conflict.”
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, I just want you here.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
She paused.
“Does Maya know?”
“Not everything.”
“Please don't overwhelm her.”
I looked toward the living room, where my sister was doing homework.
“I won't.”
That evening, Dad called.
His name appeared on my phone.
I stared at it until the ringing stopped.
Then he called again.
And again.
Finally, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Malik.”
His voice was hard.
“Why aren't you picking up?”
“I was busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
I swallowed.
“Homework.”
He laughed.
“Don't lie to me.”
I gripped the phone.
“I'm not lying.”
“Your grandmother has been filling your head with nonsense.”
I said nothing.
Then he asked, “Did you go into my bedroom?”
My heart jumped.
“No.”
“Don't play games.”
“I didn't.”
He was silent.
Then he spoke more quietly.
“Listen to me carefully.”
My skin prickled.
“Your grandmother is confused. She's been acting strangely.”
I remembered him calling her emotional.
Old-fashioned.
Forgetful.
Now I recognized the pattern.
He was trying to make me doubt her.
“Grandma seems fine to me.”
Dad's voice sharpened.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
I took a breath.
“Then explain the letters.”
Silence.
A long, terrible silence.
“What letters?” he finally asked.
“The ones Mom sent.”
I heard him curse under his breath.
Then he said, “Malik, your mother has been lying to you.”
My stomach twisted.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
I wanted to shout.
Instead, I asked one question.
“Then why did you hide her letters?”
He didn't answer.
For the first time, I didn't rush to fill the silence.
Finally, he said, “Put your grandmother on the phone.”
“No.”
His voice exploded.
“Excuse me?”
I was shaking.
But I repeated it.
“No.”
He breathed heavily.
Then his tone changed.
“Son, I don't want us fighting.”
I stared at the torn paycheck pieces resting on my desk.
“Then why did you tear my check?”
He sighed.
“I was trying to teach you something.”
“What?”
“Responsibility.”
I swallowed.
“You taught me that I can't trust you.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Dad went silent.
Then he said something that made my blood freeze.
“You have no idea how much I've sacrificed to keep your mother away from you.”
I stopped breathing.
“What did you say?”
He seemed to realize his mistake.
“Forget it.”
“Dad?”
But he'd already ended the call.
I sat staring at my phone.
Mom had said he was hiding more than letters.
Grandma had found suspicious money transfers.
And now Dad had admitted he'd deliberately kept our mother away.
I stood slowly.
Then I walked toward Grandma's bedroom.
I needed to tell her what he'd said.
But when I reached the hallway, I heard a familiar voice coming from the living room.
Dad.
He had returned.
And he was arguing with Grandma.
“I want my briefcase,” he shouted.
Grandma's voice was steady.
“Not until we settle what belongs to whom.”
My heart pounded.
May you like
Then Dad said something that made me stop in the doorway.
“If Nicole comes anywhere near those children, I'll tell them what really happened the night she left.”
