Chapter 2
I had never seen Jasmine look frightened of me before.
Angry?
Absolutely.
Annoyed?
Frequently.
But frightened?
Never.
She was the kind of woman who could argue with a restaurant manager for twenty minutes over a missing side dish.
She didn't back down easily.
Yet now she stood beside our marble counter, staring at the bank statement as though it were a loaded weapon.
I lowered my voice.
"Who received the thirty thousand dollars?"
She shook her head.
"Marcus, please."
"Answer me."
Her eyes filled.
"It isn't what you think."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Then tell me what it is."
She looked toward Malik.
"I don't want to discuss this in front of him."
My son moved uncomfortably behind me.
For one second, I almost agreed.
Then I remembered the messages she had sent him.
The humiliation.
The nights he had gone hungry.
The way he had stood in my office asking to borrow two hundred dollars from money that should already have been available to him.
"No," I said.
Jasmine stared at me.
"You don't get to decide he's family when you need his silence and a stranger when he needs help."
Malik touched my shoulder.
"Dad, it's okay."
I turned.
His eyes were red.
"No, son. It isn't."
He looked down.
I gently squeezed his shoulder.
Then faced Jasmine again.
"Where did the money go?"
She pressed her lips together.
"Jordan needed help."
I stared at her.
"Thirty thousand dollars?"
She nodded.
My stomach tightened.
"What kind of help?"
She hesitated.
"Business expenses."
I almost laughed.
"Jordan doesn't have a business."
"He was starting one."
"What business?"
She crossed her arms.
"Online investments."
I looked at her for several seconds.
"Online investments?"
"Yes."
"Doing what?"
She looked away.
"Cryptocurrency. Trading. Different things."
I took a slow breath.
"So you took thirty thousand dollars from an account I told you was meant to help Malik, and gave it to Jordan for investments?"
Her voice rose.
"He had an opportunity!"
"With my son's education money?"
"You're making it sound worse than it is."
I stared at her.
"Malik couldn't afford groceries."
She flinched.
I pointed toward him.
"Look at him."
She didn't.
"Jasmine. Look at my son."
Her eyes moved reluctantly toward Malik.
He stood near the doorway.
Quiet.
Embarrassed.
Trying to disappear.
Jasmine sighed.
"Marcus, he's fine."
I felt anger rise in my chest.
"Fine?"
I walked to the refrigerator.
Opened it.
Then looked back at her.
"Do you know what he told me today?"
She remained silent.
"He said some nights he ate crackers for dinner because he was saving money for school."
Malik looked away.
I swallowed hard.
"He lost fifteen pounds."
Jasmine's expression flickered.
But only briefly.
Then she said, "College students struggle. That's normal."
I closed the refrigerator.
"No."
My voice was calm.
And somehow, that made the room feel even quieter.
"What's normal is a parent helping his child when he can."
I looked directly at her.
"What's not normal is a stepmother hiding money from him while buying herself a twenty-thousand-dollar handbag."
Jasmine started crying.
I didn't move.
For years, her tears had been enough to end arguments.
She would cry.
Tell me I didn't understand how hard it was to raise Jordan alone.
Then I would apologize.
Usually with money.
Now I saw the pattern clearly.
"Marcus, I love you."
I shook my head.
"Love doesn't explain this."
She took a step toward me.
"I made a mistake."
"A mistake is forgetting a bill."
I tapped the bank statement.
"This took planning."
Her tears stopped.
I continued.
"You transferred money. You lied to Malik. You told him I didn't care about him."
She lowered her eyes.
"Why?"
She didn't answer.
I moved closer.
"Did you want him to stop asking me for help?"
She whispered, "I wanted him to be independent."
I stared at her.
"And Jordan?"
She looked up.
"Jordan is different."
I shook my head.
"Yes. Apparently he is."
At that moment, footsteps sounded on the staircase.
Jordan appeared.
Twenty-two years old.
Barefoot.
Wearing expensive headphones around his neck.
He looked from his mother to me.
"Why's everybody yelling?"
I stared at him.
"Come here."
He frowned.
"What's going on?"
"Did your mother give you thirty thousand dollars?"
His expression changed.
He looked toward Jasmine.
She shook her head slightly.
I saw it.
So did Malik.
Jordan swallowed.
"What money?"
I pointed toward the bank statement.
"The thirty thousand dollars transferred last month."
He shrugged.
"I don't know anything about that."
Jasmine interrupted.
"Marcus, leave him alone."
I turned toward her.
"He is a grown man."
"He's my son!"
"And Malik is mine!"
The words exploded out of me.
The room went silent.
I took a breath.
Then looked at Jordan.
"Did you receive money from your mother?"
He hesitated.
Finally, he nodded.
"Some."
"How much?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe fifteen thousand."
My heart pounded.
"What happened to the rest?"
He looked at Jasmine.
She stared at the floor.
I felt something cold settle inside me.
They were hiding something.
Something bigger than a handbag.
I looked at Malik.
"Son, go sit in the living room."
He shook his head.
"Dad, I want to stay."
I studied his face.
For once, I didn't want to decide what he could handle without asking.
"All right."
I turned back to Jordan.
"Show me the account where your mother sent the money."
He laughed nervously.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not asking twice."
Jasmine stepped forward.
"Marcus, you have no right to demand his private banking information."
I looked at her.
"Then I'll review my own account and speak with the bank."
Jordan's face changed.
He pulled out his phone.
His fingers moved quickly.
Then he whispered, "Mom."
Jasmine looked at him.
He held up the screen.
Her face went completely white.
I stepped closer.
"What?"
Jordan swallowed.
"There's a problem."
"What problem?"
He looked at me.
Then toward the front door.
"The money's gone."
I stared at him.
"All of it?"
He nodded.
My stomach dropped.
May you like
Then he whispered something that made Jasmine grab the edge of the counter.
"And the account says we owe another forty thousand."
