Chapter 4
I woke the next morning to the sound of Grandma making breakfast.
For one beautiful second, I forgot everything.
Then I saw my graduation cap on the desk.
The gold tassel hung crookedly.
And the memories returned.
Diane throwing it.
The recording.
Dad crying.
The scholarship.
I sat up and reached for my phone.
Seven missed calls.
Three from Dad.
Two from Diane.
One from an unknown number.
And one from Ashford University.
My stomach tightened.
I called the university first.
A woman answered.
"Office of Financial Aid, this is Michelle Grant."
I swallowed.
"Hello. My name is Maya Williams."
Her voice softened.
"Maya, we've been trying to reach you."
I closed my eyes.
"I know."
She explained that the university had received conflicting information about my enrollment.
One document showed I'd accepted the scholarship.
Another claimed I'd withdrawn.
I felt sick.
"I never withdrew."
She paused.
"We understand that's what you're reporting."
I took a breath.
"Someone submitted documents without my permission."
Her voice became serious.
"Then we'll need to review the records."
I nodded.
"Please."
She explained that the scholarship committee had temporarily placed my award under review rather than canceling it.
There were deadlines.
Forms.
Verification steps.
And questions about the financial documents.
I listened carefully.
For the first time, someone was explaining the process instead of telling me to stop worrying.
When the call ended, I went downstairs.
Grandma stood beside the stove.
She smiled.
"Good morning, graduate."
I tried to smile.
"Morning."
She noticed my expression.
"What's wrong?"
I sat down.
"The university needs more documents."
She nodded.
"Then we'll get them."
I looked at her.
"What if it's too late?"
She turned off the stove.
Then sat beside me.
"Maya, look at me."
I raised my eyes.
"You earned that scholarship."
Tears filled my eyes.
"And nobody gets to take your accomplishments away because they lied."
I began crying.
Grandma held me.
Then she reached for her phone.
"We're calling the attorney."
Her name was Denise Carter.
She was a former colleague of my mother's and now handled education and financial disputes.
Grandma had contacted her after I discovered the missing money.
Denise had already helped us preserve the recording.
Now she arranged a meeting.
That afternoon, we sat in her office with Dad.
He looked exhausted.
His beard was untrimmed.
His navy suit was wrinkled.
I had never seen him look so lost.
Denise placed several documents on the table.
"Let's begin with the account."
Dad nodded.
She explained that my college savings were held in a custodial investment account originally established by my mother.
After Mom died, Dad continued managing it for my benefit.
The account wasn't part of Diane's property.
It wasn't money she could simply use for her business.
Dad looked sick.
"She had no authority to move it?"
Denise shook her head.
"Not for her own purposes."
I stared at the account statements.
The original balance had been sixty-eight thousand four hundred dollars.
Then, over a period of ten days, several transfers reduced it almost to zero.
I felt my chest tighten.
"How did she do that?"
Denise explained that Diane appeared to have used documents claiming Dad authorized the transactions.
The financial institution was reviewing the signatures and account access records.
Dad covered his face.
"I can't believe this."
I looked at him.
"She knew your passwords."
He nodded.
"I gave her access to household accounts."
I swallowed.
"Did you ever check what she was doing?"
He lowered his head.
"No."
Denise continued.
"The destination company, Bright Futures Consulting, appears connected to Diane's business activities."
My stomach tightened.
"What does that mean?"
She showed us a registration record.
Bright Futures Consulting had been formed the previous year.
The listed manager was a woman named Patricia Lewis.
I frowned.
"Who's Patricia?"
Dad looked up.
His face changed.
"Diane's sister."
My stomach dropped.
Diane's sister.
The woman who often visited our house.
The woman who'd told me college was a luxury.
The woman who once laughed when I said I wanted to become a structural engineer.
I stared at the page.
"She helped Diane?"
Denise answered carefully.
"We need to establish her role."
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Patricia handles Diane's salon finances."
I looked at him.
"You knew that?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
I felt anger rise.
"And you never thought it was strange that they wanted my college money?"
He looked devastated.
"Maya, I didn't know."
I took a breath.
"I know."
Then I added:
"That's the problem."
Dad looked down.
Denise turned another page.
She explained that some of the transferred funds had already been used for business expenses.
Others remained in accounts under review.
I felt sick.
"Can we get the money back?"
She took a breath.
"We're investigating recovery options. We can't promise a complete return yet."
I nodded.
I appreciated her honesty.
Then she looked toward Dad.
"Marcus, we also need to address the forged authorization."
He swallowed.
"Yes."
She asked whether he recognized the signature.
Dad studied the page.
Then shook his head.
"That's not mine."
My hands trembled.
I had known.
But hearing him say it aloud made everything real.
Diane had apparently forged his signature.
Used my college savings.
And interfered with my scholarship acceptance.
All while telling me I was too immature to understand money.
Denise took a breath.
"We'll notify the appropriate institutions and provide the evidence."
Dad nodded.
"I'll cooperate fully."
I looked at him.
For the first time, he wasn't trying to explain Diane's behavior away.
He was facing it.
After the meeting, Dad asked to speak with me.
We stood outside the office building.
Cars moved through the parking lot.
The afternoon sun felt warm.
He looked at me.
"Maya, I want you to come home."
My heart tightened.
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
His expression fell.
"Sweetheart..."
I took a breath.
"Dad, I don't feel safe around Diane."
He nodded.
"I understand."
I studied him.
"Do you?"
He swallowed.
"Yes."
I looked down.
Then asked:
"Is she still living there?"
He hesitated.
"No. She's staying with Patricia."
Relief washed through me.
But I wasn't ready.
"I need time."
Dad nodded.
"I'll give you that."
Then he looked toward Grandma's car.
"Can I call you?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
He smiled sadly.
"Thank you."
I turned to leave.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His face tightened.
"Diane."
I stopped.
He answered.
Listened.
Then went completely still.
"What do you mean you already spent it?"
My stomach dropped.
Dad looked toward me.
May you like
His expression was full of horror.
And I realized there might be far less money left to recover than any of us expected.
