Chapter 4
Three days later, Rebecca called with news.
The bank had located the records.
I was sitting at the kitchen table with Grandma when my phone rang.
Rebecca's voice sounded serious.
"Maya, we need to meet."
My stomach tightened.
"Did you find something?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Is it bad?"
She paused.
"I'd rather explain it with the documents in front of you."
That was enough to frighten me.
Grandma drove us to her office.
I barely spoke during the ride.
At the conference table, Rebecca placed a thick stack of statements between us.
I stared at the pages.
There were years of transactions.
Deposits.
Withdrawals.
Transfers.
And signatures.
Rebecca began carefully.
"Your mother's funds were placed in an account intended for your benefit."
I nodded.
"Your father was authorized to manage it while you were a minor, subject to the governing documents."
I swallowed.
"What happened?"
She turned to a statement dated five years earlier.
A withdrawal.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Then another.
Thirty thousand.
My stomach tightened.
Rebecca continued.
"Some withdrawals may have legitimate explanations. Others require further investigation."
I stared at the descriptions.
One payment went to an automotive dealership.
Another to a private investment company.
Then I noticed a transfer to someone named Vanessa Brooks.
My breath caught.
"Vanessa?"
Grandma leaned closer.
Rebecca nodded.
"The same woman identified in the more recent transfers."
My hands went cold.
The payment was dated almost four years earlier.
Long before Dad admitted he'd been dating her.
I stared at the number.
Forty thousand dollars.
"Who is she?"
Rebecca looked at me.
"That's something we need to establish."
Grandma's expression hardened.
"I think Marcus has been lying about that relationship for years."
I shook my head.
"Dad said they met last year."
She looked at the statement.
"Then why was he transferring money to her four years ago?"
I couldn't answer.
Rebecca turned another page.
The account had been reduced dramatically over time.
By my eighteenth birthday, less than nine thousand dollars remained.
I stared at the balance.
My mother's entire savings.
Nearly gone.
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
"How much was taken?"
Rebecca reviewed her notes.
"Approximately one hundred and thirty thousand dollars was withdrawn or transferred over several years. We still need to determine the purpose and authorization for each transaction."
My eyes filled.
I remembered turning eighteen.
Dad bought me a small cake.
He gave me a hundred-dollar gift card.
Then told me we couldn't afford college.
I had believed him.
I worked full-time instead.
I stopped talking about nursing school.
And all that time, money Mom had saved for my education had been disappearing.
I looked at Grandma.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Her eyes filled.
"I thought Marcus was giving you the statements."
I shook my head.
"He never mentioned them."
Grandma covered her mouth.
"I'm so sorry."
I reached for her hand.
"You didn't know."
But I felt sick.
Rebecca explained that the records suggested possible misuse of funds.
She recommended a full accounting and further legal review.
She also advised us to preserve all communications with Dad.
I nodded.
Then she opened another folder.
"There's something else."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"A document was filed shortly before your eighteenth birthday."
I stared at her.
"What document?"
"A request to close the education account."
My hands began shaking.
Rebecca placed the form in front of me.
My name appeared at the bottom.
My signature.
Except it wasn't mine.
I leaned closer.
"That's fake."
Grandma stared.
Rebecca asked, "Are you certain?"
I nodded immediately.
"I never signed this."
The signature looked like someone had copied my handwriting from a school form.
But the final letter was wrong.
I always connected the last two letters of my name.
This signature didn't.
I pointed it out.
Rebecca made a note.
"We'll have this examined."
My stomach twisted.
Dad hadn't only spent the money.
Someone had apparently used my name to close the account.
I looked down.
"Why would he do this?"
Grandma squeezed my hand.
I started crying.
For years, I thought Dad was struggling.
I thought helping him was my responsibility.
Now every sacrifice felt different.
The overtime.
The missed college applications.
The money I'd transferred.
The guilt he'd used to keep me quiet.
After the meeting, Grandma drove me home.
I went straight to my bedroom.
My suitcases were still beside the door.
I'd refused to unpack them.
Part of me feared Dad would return and demand I leave again.
Grandma knocked gently.
"Sweetheart?"
I looked up.
"Come in."
She sat beside me.
Then looked at the luggage.
"Why haven't you unpacked?"
I shrugged.
"I don't know."
She waited.
Finally, I whispered, "It doesn't feel like my room anymore."
Her expression softened.
"Oh, Maya."
I wiped my eyes.
"Dad packed everything."
I pointed toward the suitcase.
"He even threw Mom's picture in there."
Grandma reached for my hand.
"This room belongs to you."
I shook my head.
"Legally, maybe."
She looked at me.
"But I still hear him telling me to leave."
Grandma was quiet.
Then she stood.
"Come with me."
I followed her downstairs.
She walked into the living room.
Then stopped beside the front door.
The same place Dad had shoved my suitcase.
She looked at me.
"Maya, what happened here was wrong."
I nodded.
"But this house didn't reject you."
My eyes filled.
"Your father made a cruel choice."
She placed my hand against the doorframe.
"And his choice doesn't decide whether you belong."
I started crying.
Grandma hugged me.
Then she whispered, "Your grandfather built this house so our family would always have somewhere safe."
I nodded.
"Then we're going to make it safe again."
That evening, I unpacked my suitcases.
I carefully removed Mom's photograph.
The glass was cracked.
I placed it on my desk.
Then I ordered a new frame.
For the first time in days, I felt a little stronger.
But the peace didn't last.
At nine that night, someone knocked on the front door.
Grandma looked through the window.
Her expression changed.
"Who is it?" I asked.
She turned toward me.
"Vanessa."
My stomach tightened.
The woman Dad had been giving money to.
The woman expecting his baby.
The woman whose name appeared in Mom's old account.
I walked toward the door.
Grandma stopped me.
"Let me handle this."
But I shook my head.
"No."
My voice was steady.
"I want to hear what she has to say."
Grandma opened the door.
Vanessa stood on the porch wearing an expensive cream coat.
Her hand rested on her pregnant stomach.
She looked at me.
Then smiled coldly.
"So you're Maya."
I stared at her.
"Yes."
She stepped closer.
"Marcus told me you're making trouble."
I folded my arms.
"Did he tell you where he got the money he's been giving you?"
Her smile disappeared.
May you like
Then she said something that made my stomach drop.
"Sweetheart, I've known your father longer than you've been told."
