Chapter 2
My father read the bank statement three times.
Each time, his face grew paler.
I stood beside him, afraid to move.
Denise remained near the kitchen counter, gripping the edge of her black handbag.
Finally, Dad looked up.
"Forty-eight thousand dollars?"
His voice sounded unfamiliar.
Quiet.
Almost empty.
I swallowed.
"That's what I've found so far."
He looked back at the page.
"Forty-eight thousand dollars from Olivia's trust?"
My mother's name filled the room.
Olivia Johnson.
She'd been gone for nine years.
But hearing Dad say her name still made my chest ache.
Before she died, Mom had worked as an accountant.
She saved carefully.
Every birthday, she deposited money into a special account for my education.
She called it my future fund.
When I was little, I imagined using it to become a doctor.
Later, after watching nurses care for Mom during her illness, I decided to become one.
I thought the trust was still there.
Dad had told me it would help pay for graduate school or a home someday.
Now the statement suggested a substantial amount had gone to Lauren.
Denise finally spoke.
"Marcus, you're misunderstanding."
Dad stared at her.
"Then explain it."
She rubbed her temples.
"I borrowed some money."
"Some?"
He lifted the statement.
"This shows forty-eight thousand dollars."
Denise looked toward me.
"Maya shouldn't have been going through private accounts."
I felt anger rise.
"Dad asked me to help organize the records."
"That doesn't give you permission to interfere in our marriage!"
Dad slammed his palm against the table.
"Stop blaming Maya!"
Denise flinched.
He pointed toward the statement.
"Why did you take money from Olivia's trust?"
Denise began crying.
"Lauren needed help."
Dad stared.
"For what?"
"Rent. Bills. Medical expenses."
I shook my head.
Lauren lived in a luxury apartment in Buckhead.
She drove a new Mercedes.
Her social media showed expensive vacations and designer handbags.
Something didn't add up.
Dad seemed to realize it too.
"Forty-eight thousand dollars for rent?"
Denise wiped her cheeks.
"She's had a difficult year."
I couldn't stay quiet.
"Lauren went to Miami twice last month."
Denise snapped toward me.
"Stay out of this!"
Dad stood.
"She's already involved because you used her money."
My stepmother covered her face.
I looked at Dad.
"There's another account."
He slowly turned.
"What?"
I handed him a second statement.
This one belonged to Johnson Construction, the company he'd spent twenty years building.
Dad studied the transactions.
Several payments had been made to a business called LJM Consulting.
The amounts varied.
Three thousand.
Five thousand.
Seven thousand.
All within the previous eighteen months.
Dad frowned.
"What's LJM?"
I swallowed.
"Lauren Jade Mitchell."
Denise's daughter's full name.
Dad went still.
"That's Lauren's company?"
I nodded.
"According to the state business registry."
Dad looked at Denise.
"What consulting work did Lauren perform for my company?"
She hesitated.
"Marketing."
Dad stared at her.
"Marketing?"
"Social media. Advertising. Business development."
He shook his head.
"Lauren doesn't work in marketing."
Denise lifted her chin.
"She took an online course."
Dad laughed bitterly.
"An online course?"
He looked at me.
"How much?"
I hesitated.
"Maya," he said gently. "Tell me."
I swallowed.
"The payments total seventy-six thousand dollars."
Dad sank back into his chair.
For a moment, he looked physically ill.
I hurried toward him.
"Dad?"
He nodded weakly.
"I'm okay."
But he wasn't.
His hands were shaking.
Denise stepped closer.
"Marcus, I can explain."
He raised one hand.
"Don't."
She stopped.
Dad looked at me.
"Have you verified these payments?"
I nodded.
"I checked the vendor records and the bank statements. But I haven't confirmed whether any services were actually provided."
He took a slow breath.
"Good."
Then he reached for his phone.
He called his attorney, Raymond Price.
Raymond had helped establish Johnson Construction when Dad first opened the business.
He'd also worked with Mom on estate planning.
Dad explained what we'd found.
Raymond listened quietly.
Then asked Dad to preserve the original records and avoid making changes until they could review everything properly.
He also recommended bringing in an independent forensic accountant.
Dad agreed.
Denise began shaking her head.
"You're getting lawyers involved?"
Dad looked at her.
"These are business records."
"You're treating me like a criminal!"
"I'm asking where the money went."
She began crying harder.
"After everything I've done for this family?"
I felt something twist inside me.
Everything she'd done?
I remembered my eighteenth birthday.
Denise had forgotten it completely.
Lauren received a new car three weeks later.
I remembered asking for help buying nursing textbooks.
Denise told me to use the library.
I remembered coming home exhausted after a double shift and finding the kitchen empty because Denise and Lauren had gone to a restaurant without telling me.
And now she wanted credit for raising me?
I looked at her.
"Denise, when was the last time you asked whether I needed anything?"
She stared at me.
"Excuse me?"
I took a shaky breath.
"When was the last time you asked how school was going?"
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I continued.
"When was the last time you came to one of my graduation ceremonies?"
Dad looked toward me.
His eyes filled.
I swallowed.
"You weren't at my high-school graduation. Or my nursing-school pinning ceremony."
Denise crossed her arms.
"I was busy."
I nodded slowly.
"But you went to Lauren's nail appointment that afternoon."
The room went silent.
Dad looked devastated.
"Maya."
I shook my head.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want another argument."
He stood and pulled me into his arms.
"I'm sorry."
I began crying against his shoulder.
For years, I'd convinced myself I was being dramatic.
Now the truth was finally coming out.
Dad held me tightly.
Then turned toward Denise.
"Where is the rest of the money?"
She looked confused.
"What rest?"
He pointed toward the documents.
"You've already admitted taking money from the trust. And we have unexplained payments to Lauren's business."
Denise stepped backward.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Dad's expression hardened.
"Then we'll find out."
At that moment, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
I looked down.
My stomach dropped.
The message contained a photograph.
Lauren standing beside a beautiful two-story house.
Beneath it were the words:
Ask your father who really paid for my new home.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
And ask Denise why she's trying to sell his company.
My hands went cold.
I looked toward Dad.
May you like
"Dad, we have another problem."
And suddenly, the missing money was no longer the most frightening part of what we'd discovered.
