Chapter 2
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
I stood behind my desk, staring at my wife.
"What do you mean Kayla isn't the only child?"
Denise looked toward the hallway.
"Lower your voice."
I shook my head.
"No."
She stepped inside my office and closed the door.
"Marcus, please."
"Whose tuition?"
She rubbed her forehead.
"You need to understand the situation."
I felt my patience disappearing.
"Then explain it."
Denise sat in the chair opposite my desk.
For the first time since our argument began, she looked genuinely nervous.
"It's my niece."
I stared at her.
"Your niece?"
She nodded.
"Amara."
I knew Amara well.
She was sixteen, the daughter of Denise's older sister, Valerie.
Valerie had struggled financially since her divorce.
Amara was a wonderful girl.
Quiet.
Hardworking.
Always carrying a book.
She'd spent several weekends at our house helping Kayla with school projects.
But I had never heard anything about Amara attending Briarwood.
"Why are we paying for Amara's education?"
Denise looked offended.
"Because she's family."
"That isn't an explanation."
"Valerie needed help."
"Then why didn't Valerie ask me?"
Denise hesitated.
I leaned forward.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked away.
"Because I knew you'd react like this."
I stared at her.
"Like what? Ask questions before committing eighteen thousand dollars?"
Denise shook her head.
"You've never understood how important education is to my family."
That hurt.
I was the first person in my family to graduate from college.
I'd worked nights at a warehouse to pay my tuition.
My father had been a mechanic.
My mother cleaned offices.
Neither of them had much money.
But they taught me to value education.
I looked at Denise.
"Don't insult me because you don't want to answer."
She pressed her lips together.
Then she admitted something else.
"The total commitment is thirty-six thousand dollars."
I felt my chest tighten.
"Thirty-six?"
"Both girls."
I sat down slowly.
The eighteen-thousand-dollar invoice was only Kayla's portion.
Another eighteen thousand had been promised for Amara.
My wife had committed our household to thirty-six thousand dollars without discussing it with me.
And she'd already moved money from our accounts.
I stared at her.
"How much have you paid for Amara?"
Denise hesitated.
"Five thousand."
My stomach dropped.
"From where?"
She looked down.
"From the savings account."
I opened the transaction history.
Another withdrawal appeared.
It was dated four days earlier.
Recipient: Briarwood Scholarship Services.
Amount: $5,000.
I hadn't recognized the name.
Now I understood why.
"Fourteen thousand five hundred dollars," I whispered.
Denise looked at me.
"What?"
"You've already spent fourteen thousand five hundred dollars."
She folded her arms.
"It's for the girls."
I stared at her.
"And what about our bills?"
"We have money."
"Not unlimited money."
She looked away.
I opened another account.
Our emergency savings.
The account we'd promised never to touch unless something serious happened.
The balance was lower than I remembered.
Much lower.
I scrolled through the transactions.
Then I froze.
There were three withdrawals over the previous two months.
Four thousand dollars.
Three thousand five hundred.
Two thousand.
All transferred into an account I didn't recognize.
I turned the screen toward Denise.
"What are these?"
Her face drained.
"Marcus—"
"Who owns this account?"
She swallowed.
"It's mine."
I stared at her.
"You've been moving money into a separate account?"
She looked down.
"I needed flexibility."
"Flexibility for what?"
She didn't answer.
I felt anger rising again.
Then I noticed something.
The transfers began almost immediately after Denise started talking about private schools.
I looked at her.
"How long have you been planning this?"
She whispered:
"Since March."
It was August.
Five months.
Five months of secret plans.
Five months of moving money.
Five months of pretending we were making decisions together.
I stood.
"Does Valerie know?"
Denise looked startled.
"What?"
"Does your sister know you're using our savings?"
She hesitated.
"She knows I'm helping."
"Does she know how?"
Denise shook her head.
I picked up my phone.
"I'm calling her."
Denise jumped up.
"Don't!"
I froze.
Her reaction was immediate.
Desperate.
"Why not?"
She stepped closer.
"Because you'll embarrass her."
I stared at her.
"Or because there's something else you're hiding?"
Denise's eyes filled.
For a moment, she looked like she might finally tell me the truth.
Then she whispered:
"Marcus, you don't understand what happened to Amara."
My anger weakened.
"What happened?"
Denise sat down heavily.
"She lost her scholarship."
I frowned.
"What scholarship?"
"The one she was supposed to receive from a private foundation."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
Denise wiped her eyes.
"Because of a problem with her application."
I felt confused.
"Then why didn't Valerie tell us?"
Denise looked down.
"Because she doesn't know the whole story."
My stomach tightened.
"What whole story?"
Before she could answer, someone knocked on the office door.
"Dad?"
Kayla.
I immediately softened my voice.
"Come in, sweetheart."
Our daughter stepped inside wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt.
She looked frightened.
"Why are you and Mom fighting?"
I glanced at Denise.
Then looked at Kayla.
"Your mother and I are discussing some financial decisions."
Kayla's eyes filled.
"Is it about Briarwood?"
I went still.
"You know about Briarwood?"
She nodded.
My chest tightened.
"Did Mom tell you she enrolled you?"
Kayla looked at Denise.
Then whispered:
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"Sweetheart, did you want to go there?"
Kayla hesitated.
Then shook her head.
"No."
The room went silent.
I stared at my daughter.
"You didn't?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"I told Mom I wanted to stay at Westbrook High."
Denise immediately spoke.
"Kayla, we discussed why Briarwood is better."
Kayla flinched.
I noticed.
My heart sank.
I turned toward Denise.
"Let her speak."
Then I looked back at my daughter.
"Tell me."
Kayla started crying.
"Mom said if I didn't go, Amara couldn't go either."
I felt cold.
"What?"
Kayla looked down.
"She said Amara's future depended on me agreeing."
I stared at Denise.
Our daughter continued.
"She said if I told you, you'd refuse to help, and it would be my fault if Amara lost her chance."
My chest tightened.
Denise opened her mouth.
I raised one hand.
"Not now."
Kayla began crying harder.
"Dad, I didn't want you to spend all that money."
I crossed the room and hugged her.
"Sweetheart, none of this is your responsibility."
She clung to me.
"I'm sorry."
I kissed her forehead.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
Behind us, Denise began crying.
But I couldn't look at her.
Because I finally understood something terrible.
My wife hadn't only gone behind my back.
She'd used our daughter's love for her cousin to pressure her into accepting a decision she never wanted.
I held Kayla tighter.
Then I asked Denise one final question.
"Why did Amara lose that scholarship?"
Denise looked at me.
Her lips trembled.
May you like
And when she answered, I realized the tuition bill was connected to something much worse.
"Because someone submitted false information in her name."
