Chapter 2: The Thirty-Eight-Thousand-Dollar Transfer
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The wind stirred the leaves along the driveway. Somewhere down the street, a lawn mower started and stopped.
Dad stared at his phone.
Monica stared at Dad.
And Kayla slowly lowered the SUV keys into her palm.
"Thirty-eight thousand?"" Dad repeated.
Monica recovered first.
"It was a temporary transfer.""
"To whom?""
"Why are you interrogating me in front of everyone?""
"Because my bank just told me that nearly forty thousand dollars left our joint account.""
She reached for his arm.
"Derrick, please. Let's go inside.""
He stepped away.
"Who received the money?""
Monica glanced at me.
I recognized the look. It was the same one she used whenever she wanted to make me feel guilty for being present during an argument.
"This is a private marital matter," she said.
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Then give me a private marital answer.""
Kayla shifted beside her SUV.
"Mom, you said everything was handled.""
Monica shot her a warning look.
"Kayla, go inside.""
"But—"
"Now.""
Kayla hesitated, then walked toward the house, her expensive sneakers clicking against the stone path. She kept the SUV keys in her hand.
I watched her go.
The vehicle had a temporary dealer plate. That detail suddenly seemed important.
Dad looked at me.
"Nia, did Monica tell you anything about how she arranged the sale?""
"She said someone was willing to pay. She wouldn't tell me the price.""
"Did you sign anything?""
"No.""
"Nothing at all?""
"No, Dad. I didn't even know she was selling it until I came home.""
He nodded slowly.
Then he looked at Monica again.
"Give me the buyer's name.""
"I don't have it memorized.""
"You sold a car without the owner's permission, and you don't know who bought it?""
"I handled it through a dealership.""
"Which dealership?""
She paused.
That pause was small, but I saw it.
So did Dad.
"Monica.""
"It was a used-car dealer.""
"Name.""
"Why are you behaving like a police officer?""
"Because you refuse to answer a simple question.""
She threw her hands up.
"I was trying to help this family!""
Dad held up his phone.
"Then explain this transfer.""
Monica's expression softened into the face she usually wore when she wanted him to forgive her.
"The SUV cost more than we expected. Kayla needed something dependable, and I didn't want her driving an unreliable vehicle. I moved money to cover the difference.""
"Thirty-eight thousand dollars?""
"The price was higher than the original estimate.""
"What was the original estimate?""
She looked away.
Dad let out a short breath.
"How much did you pay for that SUV?""
"Forty-seven thousand.""
I stared at the vehicle.
Forty-seven thousand dollars.
My Civic had been worth perhaps twelve thousand, depending on the mileage and condition. Even if Monica had somehow received full market value, my car could not have accounted for the price of Kayla's new SUV.
The numbers didn't make sense.
"Dad," I said quietly, "she said she used the money from my car.""
He looked at me.
"I heard her.""
"So where did the rest come from?""
Monica's eyes flashed.
"Nia, stop inserting yourself into conversations that don't concern you.""
"She sold my car. It concerns me.""
Dad stepped between us.
"Don't speak to her like that.""
Monica went still.
It was the first time I could remember him correcting her in front of me.
She looked almost offended.
"Excuse me?""
"You heard me.""
Her mouth opened, then closed.
Dad returned his attention to his phone and tapped the screen.
"I want the transaction details.""
Monica's face tightened.
"You don't trust me?""
"Right now, I don't know what to believe.""
That answer seemed to wound her more deeply than an accusation would have.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"After everything I've done for this family?""
Dad didn't respond.
Instead, he opened his banking app.
I watched his eyes move across the screen.
Then he frowned.
"What is this?""
Monica leaned forward.
"What?""
He turned the phone slightly away from her.
"There's another transfer.""
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"" I asked.
"Four thousand five hundred dollars. Three days ago.""
Monica looked toward the front door.
Dad noticed.
"Monica, where did that money go?""
"It was for household expenses.""
"Which expenses?""
"Groceries. Utilities. Things you don't pay attention to because you're always working.""
Dad stared at her.
"You have a household card for those expenses.""
"I needed to use another account.""
"Why?""
She folded her arms.
"Because I wanted to.""
The words came out before she could soften them.
Silence followed.
Dad lowered his phone.
"Go inside, Nia.""
My heart sank.
For one awful second, I thought he was sending me away because he planned to side with Monica after all.
"Dad—"
"Please, baby. Go inside. I need to make a few calls.""
I looked at Monica.
She was watching me with the faintest trace of satisfaction.
I knew that look.
She believed the confrontation was over.
She believed Dad would eventually calm down, apologize for embarrassing her, and tell me to stop making trouble.
I walked through the front door, but I didn't go upstairs.
I stopped in the hallway, just beyond the corner where they couldn't see me.
I didn't want to spy.
I wanted to know whether my father believed me.
Outside, Dad's voice carried through the open doorway.
"Marcus, I need you to check something for me.""
A pause.
"Yes, right now.""
Another pause.
"No, this isn't about the property deal. It's personal.""
I heard the soft click of his shoes as he paced.
"I need the dealership records, the payment trail, and any paperwork connected to a silver Honda Civic registered in my daughter's name.""
My heart started pounding.
Registered in my name.
That was the important part.
When I bought the Civic, Dad had insisted that I put the registration and title in my own name. He'd helped me compare insurance quotes, but he hadn't paid for the vehicle.
"You worked for it," he'd told me.
"You should own it.""
The memory brought tears to my eyes.
Dad continued speaking.
"And Marcus? Check whether there was a loan against the car.""
I pressed my hand against the wall.
A loan?
Why would there be a loan against my car?
I had never borrowed money against it.
I had bought it outright.
Dad's voice grew sharper.
"You're telling me someone used the vehicle identification number to apply for financing?""
My breath caught.
He listened.
Then he said, "Send me everything you have.""
I heard his footsteps approaching the door.
I hurried into the kitchen and pretended to examine a stack of mail.
A moment later, Dad walked inside.
His expression had changed.
He looked older somehow, as though the past ten minutes had added years to his face.
"Dad?"" I asked.
He stopped in front of me.
"Did you ever give Monica a copy of your driver's license or the title to your car?""
I shook my head.
"No. She never asked.""
"Did you ever sign any paperwork for a loan?""
"No.""
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Okay.""
"What does that mean?""
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
"It means I need to understand exactly what happened before I make any accusations.""
"Dad, she sold my car.""
"I know.""
"Then why are you asking me about a loan?""
He looked up.
"Because the dealership says your car was used as collateral for a loan application.""
My fingers went numb.
"That's impossible.""
"That's what I thought.""
"I paid cash for that car.""
"I know, baby.""
"Then who did this?""
Dad didn't answer immediately.
He looked toward the staircase, where Kayla's laughter drifted down from the upper floor.
Then he lowered his voice.
"The dealership has a copy of a document with your signature on it.""
I stared at him.
"What?""
"They claim you authorized the transaction.""
"I didn't!""
"I believe you.""
He said it without hesitation.
That was when I finally began to cry.
Not because the situation was fixed. It wasn't.
Not because I knew what would happen next. I didn't.
I cried because, for the first time that afternoon, someone wasn't asking me to calm down, be patient, or understand Monica's intentions.
Dad reached across the table and took my hand.
"We're going to find out who signed that document.""
I wiped my face with my sleeve.
"What if they don't believe me?""
"Then we'll show them the truth.""
He squeezed my hand.
"But Nia, there's something else.""
I looked at him.
"The dealership says the person who brought in your car wasn't Monica.""
My heartbeat stumbled.
"Who was it?""
Dad turned his phone toward me.
A grainy photograph showed a young woman standing beside the service counter, wearing a pink top and carrying a designer handbag.
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Even through the poor image quality, I recognized her immediately.
Kayla.
