Chapter 2
I had never seen my father look at Denise the way he did that afternoon.
There was no shouting.
No dramatic movement.
Just a terrible silence.
He stood in our driveway holding the bank statement while Denise stared at him like a trapped animal.
"Marcus, please," she whispered.
Dad raised the paper.
"Forty-eight thousand dollars."
I stopped breathing.
Forty-eight thousand dollars.
That was more money than I'd ever imagined holding in my hands.
It was supposed to help pay for college.
For years, Dad had told me he was saving everything he could so I wouldn't graduate with enormous student loans.
I'd believed that money was safe.
Now I watched him hold the statement in front of Denise.
"Where did it go?"
She looked toward Jordan.
Then back at Dad.
"I moved some funds."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Some funds?"
"I was going to put them back."
"When?"
She hesitated.
"After Jordan got established."
I stared at her.
"What does Jordan have to do with my college money?"
Nobody answered.
Then Jordan spoke.
"Mom said it was family money."
Dad turned toward him.
"What did she spend it on?"
Jordan shrugged.
"My business."
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
"Your business?"
He looked annoyed.
"Yeah. The car detailing company I'm starting."
I stared at him.
Jordan had been talking about opening a car detailing business for months.
But he'd never actually started one.
He spent most afternoons sleeping.
His garage equipment was still in unopened boxes.
And he'd recently returned from a vacation with friends.
"You used my college money for that?"
Jordan rolled his eyes.
"Relax. I'll pay it back when the business takes off."
I couldn't believe him.
"You haven't even opened the business!"
His expression hardened.
"That's because I need startup capital."
Dad looked at Denise.
"You transferred forty-eight thousand dollars without telling me."
She crossed her arms.
"You gave me access to the accounts."
"To pay household bills."
"I thought you wanted us to act like a family!"
Dad stared at her.
"A family doesn't take money from a child."
Denise's eyes filled with tears.
"Jordan is your son too."
Dad's face changed.
"I've treated Jordan like my own since the day we married."
"Then prove it!"
"I bought him a laptop for school. I helped him get a job interview. I offered to pay for business courses."
Denise looked away.
Dad continued.
"He refused those opportunities."
Jordan scoffed.
"I don't want to work for somebody else."
Dad turned toward him.
"Then you need to learn how to build something yourself."
Jordan's face reddened.
"I am building something."
"With Maya's money."
Silence.
My hands trembled around the car key.
I'd worked so hard.
I had spent four years believing my future was secure.
And my stepmother had quietly taken nearly fifty thousand dollars from me.
I looked at Dad.
"Can we get it back?"
His expression softened immediately.
"I'm going to do everything I can, sweetheart."
Denise stepped forward.
"Marcus, you're overreacting."
Dad turned toward her.
"No."
She stared at him.
"You always put Maya first."
My heart sank.
There it was.
The accusation I'd heard for years.
Every time Dad bought me something, Denise claimed Jordan deserved the same.
Every time he praised me, she complained that Jordan felt neglected.
My achievements had become insults to her son.
Dad looked at Denise for a long moment.
"Maya is my daughter."
"And Jordan is mine!"
"That doesn't give you permission to steal from her."
Denise flinched.
"Don't call me a thief."
Dad held up the statement.
"Then tell me what you call this."
Her lips trembled.
Jordan stepped forward.
"Look, I'll return the car."
Dad shook his head.
"You were never entitled to it."
Jordan's expression darkened.
"Whatever."
He turned and started walking toward the house.
Dad stopped him.
"Jordan."
He looked back.
"You're going to provide a full accounting of where that money went."
Jordan laughed.
"You're kidding."
Dad didn't smile.
"No."
Denise grabbed his arm.
"Marcus, he's just a boy."
Dad looked at her.
"He's nineteen."
Then he turned toward me.
"Maya, go inside for a minute."
I hesitated.
"Dad..."
"Please, sweetheart. I need to speak with Denise."
I looked at his face.
He was trying to remain calm.
But I could see how much this hurt him.
I nodded and walked inside.
I didn't go upstairs.
Instead, I sat at the kitchen table.
My graduation certificate was still lying beside a vase of flowers.
I had received academic honors.
A scholarship offer.
A letter from my future university.
And now I didn't know whether I could afford to go.
I stared at the certificate until tears blurred the words.
A few minutes later, Dad entered.
He sat beside me.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "I'm sorry."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because I didn't protect you."
My throat tightened.
"Dad, you didn't know."
He shook his head.
"I should have paid attention."
I wanted to tell him everything.
About the chores.
The insults.
The times Denise deliberately made me miss school activities because Jordan needed something.
But the words felt trapped inside me.
Dad reached for my hand.
"Maya, has Denise been treating you badly?"
I looked down.
He waited.
I finally whispered, "Sometimes."
His face changed.
"Tell me."
I hesitated.
Then everything came pouring out.
I told him about the smaller bedroom.
The missed birthday dinner.
The clothes Denise refused to buy while Jordan received expensive sneakers.
The day she told me my mother would be disappointed in how selfish I'd become.
Dad went completely still.
"She said that?"
I nodded.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
"She said Mom wouldn't want me taking so much from the family."
Dad covered his mouth.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he pulled me into his arms.
"I'm sorry, baby."
I cried against his jacket.
He held me tightly.
"I should have believed you sooner."
I shook my head.
"You were always working."
"That doesn't excuse it."
I felt him kiss my forehead.
"Things are going to change."
That evening, Denise stayed in the guest bedroom.
Jordan refused to speak to Dad.
The house felt strange.
Quiet.
But for the first time in years, I didn't feel completely alone.
At nine, Dad knocked on my bedroom door.
"Sweetheart?"
I looked up.
He held another bank statement.
"I found something else."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He sat beside me.
"Your mother left you an inheritance."
I stared at him.
"I know. You told me it was in a trust."
He nodded.
"That money was supposed to remain untouched until you turned eighteen."
I swallowed.
"Is it gone too?"
Dad's face tightened.
"I don't know yet."
My heart started pounding.
"Why?"
He looked at the paper.
"Because someone tried to change the account's authorized contact information."
I stared at him.
"Denise?"
Dad didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered, "The request included a document with my signature."
I felt sick.
"So?"
He looked directly at me.
"I never signed it."
May you like
And in that moment, I realized Denise might not have been simply favoring Jordan.
She might have been planning to take everything my mother left behind.
