Chapter 2
The last birthday guest left without taking a piece of cake.
I heard the front door close while Maya, Brooke, and I sat in the study. Claire stood beside the bookshelf, gripping her phone. None of us had asked her to stay there. She seemed afraid to sit down.
“Start with the withdrawal,” I said.
“I used the login you keep on the home computer.”
“You knew that account was for Maya.”
“I meant to put it back.”
“With what?”
Claire looked at Brooke.
Brooke shook her head. “Don't use me to answer.”
I had never heard her speak to her mother that way.
Claire turned back to me.
“There was a short-term problem. I thought I could fix it before anyone checked.”
“What problem?”
She glanced at the door.
“Maya doesn't need to hear every detail.”
“It was my money,” Maya said.
I knew the account was legally in my name, with Maya named as its beneficiary. I had funded it over years, including money left for her by her mother, Rachel, who died when Maya was five.
Maya knew about that part. Every year on Rachel's birthday, we'd talk about the things she hoped Maya could do.
Claire knew too.
“I'll hear the details,” Maya said.
I looked at Claire.
“Where did the remaining fifty-one thousand go?”
She rubbed her forehead.
“To cover a debt.”
“Whose debt?”
“Mine.”
Brooke put the Mustang keys on my desk.
“What kind of debt?” I asked.
Claire's eyes filled, but I had seen her use tears to end conversations before. I stayed quiet.
“A loan,” she said.
“From a bank?”
“Yes.”
“Show me the statement.”
“I don't have it here.”
“Where is it?”
She didn't answer.
I picked up my phone and called my sister, Leah. She was the person I trusted to come when I needed help without turning our worst day into a story for other people.
“I need you at the house,” I told her. “Can you stay with the girls for a while?”
“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”
Maya heard me.
“I'm not a child.”
“I know. I need someone here while I figure out which accounts are affected. You can stay with us or sit with Leah.”
She nodded once.
Claire stepped toward the desk.
“You've called your sister before you've let me explain.”
“I've asked you three times for an explanation.”
“The loan was meant to help our family.”
“What loan?”
“I'll get the papers.”
She left the study.
Brooke waited until her footsteps faded.
“Dad, I didn't ask for a new Mustang.”
“I know.”
“I said I wanted a car, and Mom kept asking which color I liked. I thought she'd saved for it.”
Maya stared at the keys on the desk. Brooke reached toward them, then pulled her hand back.
“You can believe me,” Brooke said to her.
“I do. I'm still angry when I look at that car.”
“Me too.”
Their honesty hurt more than an argument would have. Both of them had lost their birthday afternoon in different ways. Maya had lost something far greater.
Claire returned with a folder. Inside was a statement for a personal loan in her name. The outstanding balance had been just over fifty thousand dollars before a payment posted the day before.
“What was the loan for?” I asked.
“Expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“Things for the house. Brooke's activities. My mother's care.”
Claire's mother lived independently and had never asked us for help. I checked the date the loan had been opened.
Eighteen months earlier.
“Why didn't you tell me you borrowed this?”
“We were fighting about money then.”
“We were discussing replacing the roof. I asked what we could afford.”
“You always have a number ready for every choice.”
“A roof requires a number.”
Claire shut the folder.
“I'm not doing this in front of the girls.”
“Then tell them how you plan to restore the money you took,” I said.
She had no answer.
Leah arrived before our voices rose again. She hugged Maya, then Brooke. She didn't touch the keys.
“I've got soup at home,” she told them. “You're welcome to come over while your dad makes calls.”
Maya chose to go. Brooke followed after asking me to text her as soon as I knew more. Claire watched them leave with Leah.
“You sent my daughter away,” she said.
“I sent both daughters somewhere they can breathe.”
Once they were gone, I opened the statements again. The loan payment was there. The car receipt was there. I photographed both and saved the withdrawal record.
Claire stood across the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping copies.”
“You're acting like I'm a criminal.”
“You took money from an account I controlled without telling me.”
“Because you would have said no.”
She said it before she could stop herself.
I looked up.
“Yes,” I said. “I would have.”
She sank into a chair. For a few seconds, she seemed as shocked by her own answer as I was.
I asked for access to the email address that had received the withdrawal confirmation. She said it was an old account she used for household notices. She couldn't remember the password.
I didn't believe that, but I couldn't force her to open it.
That evening, the dealership called our home number. Claire reached for the phone. I answered first.
A man introduced himself as the sales manager. He said a document Claire promised to bring back had not arrived, and he needed to confirm how the remaining balance for the Mustang would be paid.
I looked at the receipt on my desk.
May you like
I had thought the forty-one thousand dollars covered the car.
It was only the down payment.
