Chapter 2
I turned toward my son.
“What do you mean she took more?”
Malik's hands were shaking.
He looked at Denise.
Then back at me.
“She made me give her my birthday money.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
He swallowed.
“Three hundred dollars.”
I froze.
Three hundred dollars.
The money my mother had given Malik on his sixteenth birthday.
She'd put it inside a card with a handwritten message.
For my grandson's future.
I remembered Malik smiling when he opened it.
He'd told everyone he was saving it toward a computer.
I stared at him.
“When?”
“August.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
Malik looked down.
“Denise said I owed her because I used too much electricity.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I looked at my wife.
“Electricity?”
Denise threw up her hands.
“Oh, please. He's making it sound worse than it was.”
I stared at her.
“You charged my son three hundred dollars for electricity?”
She crossed her arms.
“He leaves his computer running.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the explanation was so absurd.
I paid our utility bills.
Every month.
From the same household account I'd funded for years.
There was no unpaid electricity balance.
No emergency.
No reason for Denise to demand my son's birthday money.
“Did you tell him I approved that too?”
Denise looked away.
“Marcus, you don't understand how expensive teenagers are.”
I felt cold.
“Then explain why Tasha isn't paying anything.”
Tasha shifted on the sofa.
“Mom…”
Denise turned sharply.
“Stay out of this.”
I looked at Tasha.
Her laptop remained open.
A shopping website filled the screen.
Beside it sat a pair of designer sunglasses.
I recognized them.
Denise had bought them for Tasha the previous month.
They cost more than Malik earned in four weekends.
My stomach twisted.
I looked back at Denise.
“You're not teaching responsibility.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Excuse me?”
“You're taking money from a child while protecting an adult from the same rules.”
Her face flushed.
“Tasha is my daughter!”
The words landed heavily.
I stared at her.
Then I looked at Malik.
His expression had changed.
He was staring at Denise as though she'd confirmed something he'd suspected for months.
I turned back.
“And Malik is my son.”
Denise rolled her eyes.
“You always defend him.”
I took a slow breath.
“Because you're threatening to remove him from his home.”
She stood.
“I'm not threatening him.”
I picked up the notice.
“Then what is this?”
She looked away.
“A warning.”
“A warning about what?”
“Respect.”
I shook my head.
“You don't teach respect by making a child afraid of homelessness.”
Denise stared at me.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Tasha slowly closed her laptop.
“Marcus, I didn't know about the notice.”
I turned.
She looked uncomfortable.
“I knew Malik helped with groceries sometimes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Helped?”
She nodded.
“Mom said he wanted to contribute.”
Malik laughed bitterly.
“Wanted?”
Tasha looked toward him.
He stepped forward.
“She told me Dad would be disappointed if I didn't pay.”
Tasha's expression changed.
“Malik…”
“And she said I should be grateful she lets me live here.”
The room went quiet.
I felt tears rise.
My son shouldn't have had to earn a place in my home.
I took his hand.
“Go sit in the kitchen, buddy.”
He hesitated.
“Dad…”
“I'm not sending you away. I just don't want you standing through another argument.”
He nodded slowly.
Then walked toward the kitchen.
I waited until he was out of hearing range.
Then faced Denise.
“I need a complete record of every payment you've taken from him.”
She scoffed.
“This is ridiculous.”
I held her gaze.
“And I want the money returned.”
Her eyes widened.
“Returned?”
“Yes.”
“He owes it for living here!”
I felt anger flash through me.
Then I deliberately lowered my voice.
“No, Denise.”
I pointed toward the kitchen.
“He's a sixteen-year-old child. He's not your tenant.”
She laughed.
“You spoil him.”
I shook my head.
“Providing food and shelter for my minor son isn't spoiling him.”
She turned toward Tasha.
“Do you hear how he's talking to me?”
Tasha looked down.
I took a breath.
“I'm going to talk with an attorney about the proper next steps.”
Denise froze.
“What?”
“And until we've addressed this, I won't leave Malik alone with someone threatening his housing.”
Her face hardened.
“You're choosing him over our marriage?”
I stared at her.
“I'm choosing my responsibility as his father.”
She laughed angrily.
“Then don't expect me to keep playing mother to him.”
The words hurt.
But they also clarified something.
Denise had never been required to replace Danielle.
I'd only asked her to treat Malik with kindness.
And somehow, she'd decided even that was too much.
I walked into the kitchen.
Malik was sitting at the counter.
His head rested in his hands.
I approached quietly.
“Buddy?”
He looked up.
His eyes were red.
“Are you mad?”
My heart broke.
“Not at you.”
He nodded weakly.
I sat beside him.
“Can you show me every payment?”
He hesitated.
Then opened his phone.
We went through the bank records together.
Six eighty-dollar transfers.
The three-hundred-dollar birthday payment.
Then another payment.
One hundred and twenty dollars.
My stomach tightened.
“What's this?”
Malik looked away.
“My school trip.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Denise said I had to repay her for the museum trip.”
I remembered that trip.
I'd given Denise the money to cover Malik's school expenses.
I had paid the full amount.
Yet she'd demanded reimbursement from him.
I stared at the phone.
The total had reached nine hundred dollars.
My son's savings.
Almost everything he'd earned and received that year.
I looked at him.
“Did she take anything else?”
He hesitated.
Then whispered, “She has my debit card.”
My entire body went cold.
I stared at him.
“Your debit card?”
He nodded.
“She said she needed it to make sure I wasn't wasting money.”
My heart pounded.
“Where is it?”
He looked toward the living room.
“In her desk.”
I took a slow breath.
“Does she know your PIN?”
Malik lowered his head.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
I reached for my phone.
“I'm calling the bank.”
Malik looked frightened.
“Dad, please don't make her angry.”
I gently squeezed his hand.
“Buddy, protecting your money isn't something you need to apologize for.”
He began crying.
I held him.
Then we contacted the bank through its official number and took steps to secure his account.
When the representative reviewed recent activity, my stomach dropped.
There were several transactions Malik didn't recognize.
A clothing store.
A beauty salon.
And a payment to a furniture retailer.
The total was more than a thousand dollars.
I stared at the screen.
Then I remembered Tasha's new bedroom furniture.
The clothes Denise had bought her.
The expensive gifts.
I felt sick.
After the call, I looked at Malik.
He was trembling.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Is all my money gone?”
My throat tightened.
I put my arm around him.
“We're going to investigate every transaction.”
He began crying.
Then he whispered something that broke my heart.
“I was saving it so I wouldn't have to ask you for anything.”
I closed my eyes.
My son had been trying not to become a burden.
And someone had taken advantage of that fear.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from the bank confirmed that the unauthorized transactions had been reported.
I looked at the total.
May you like
And suddenly realized the eighty-dollar rent demand wasn't the beginning.
It was only the part of the scheme Denise had finally put in writing.
