Chapter 2: The Boy Who Wasn't Supposed to Know
I didn't open the door immediately.
Jordan had spent the last three years making my life miserable in ways that were difficult to explain to adults.
He hid my school supplies, ate the snacks Dad bought specifically for me, and once told his friends that I was only living in the mansion because my mother had died.
When Dad confronted him, Jordan claimed it was a joke.
Vanessa had defended him.
“Boys say stupid things,” she'd explained.
“Maya needs to stop taking everything personally.””
So I had learned to avoid him.
But the voice outside my bedroom wasn't the Jordan I knew.
It was shaking.
“Maya, please.””
I stepped away from my bed.
“Why?””
“Because I know about the messages.””
My stomach tightened.
I opened the door only as far as the security chain allowed.
Jordan stood in the hallway wearing gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His hair was messy, and his face looked unusually pale.
“What messages?”” I asked.
He glanced toward the staircase.
“Can I come in?””
“No.””
“Maya.””
“Tell me what you want.””
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Did someone text you about an account under my name?””
I stared at him.
His expression changed.
“You did,” he whispered.
“Who sent the message?””
“I don't know.””
“You don't know?””
“I said I don't know!””
His voice rose.
I reached for the door.
He immediately lowered his voice.
“Wait. Please.””
I didn't move.
Jordan swallowed.
“My mom told me to delete something from Dad's laptop.””
“What?””
“The travel account.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Why?””
“She said she'd accidentally made a mistake with your ticket. She wanted me to remove the notification before Dad saw it.””
“And you did?””
He looked away.
“Jordan.””
“I didn't know she was stealing the money!””
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
“What do you mean, stealing?””
He stepped closer to the door.
“Your refund went into an account she opened using my information.””
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
“Your account?””
“It's not really mine. It's a youth savings account she opened years ago. She manages it.””
“Why would my ticket refund go there?””
“I don't know!””
“You must know something.””
Jordan looked toward the stairs again.
Then he pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Look.””
He showed me a banking notification.
<PRIVATE_DATE> — Incoming transfer: $1,284.60.
Below it was a second notification.
<PRIVATE_DATE> — Transfer completed.
The recipient account had been partially hidden.
But the final four digits were familiar.
7714.
I looked at him.
“You transferred my money?””
Jordan shook his head.
“My mom did. I gave her the login because she said she needed to check something.””
“When?””
“Yesterday morning.””
“Before the ticket was canceled?””
He nodded.
I stared at the screen.
“Where did the money go?””
“I don't know. That's what I'm trying to tell you.””
“Why didn't you tell Dad?””
Jordan laughed bitterly.
“You think he'd believe me?””
“He's your father.””
“Exactly.””
His voice cracked.
“He already thinks I'm irresponsible. If I tell him I gave Mom access to the account, she'll say I stole the money and blamed her.””
I looked at him for a long moment.
For the first time, I wondered whether Jordan was afraid of Vanessa in the same way I was.
Not because she might shout.
Because she knew how to make everyone else believe her version of events.
“What do you want me to do?”” I asked.
“Don't tell Dad I came here.””
I almost laughed.
“You want me to keep this secret?””
“I want you to understand that I didn't cancel your ticket.””
“But you helped her move the money.””
He looked down.
“I know.””
That was the first honest thing he'd said.
I closed the door.
Jordan didn't try to stop me.
A moment later, his footsteps disappeared down the hallway.
I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at my mother's towel.
It was folded inside the suitcase.
I took it out and pressed it against my face.
It still smelled faintly of the lavender detergent Dad had always used.
I remembered Mom drying my hair with it.
I remembered her telling me that the ocean didn't care whether I was brave.
“You just have to get in,” she'd said.
I wondered what she would tell me now.
My phone vibrated again.
This time, the message came from Caleb.
Are you awake?
I typed back.
Yes.
His response arrived immediately.
I heard Jordan talking to you. Don't trust Mom.
I sat up.
What do you mean?
A minute passed.
Then he sent a photograph.
It showed Vanessa sitting at the kitchen island earlier that afternoon, her handbag open beside her.
On the counter was a white envelope.
I enlarged the image.
My name was written across the front.
MAYA BENNETT.
Below it, in smaller handwriting, were the words:
*MIAMI — ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS.*
I stared at the photograph.
Where did you get this?
Caleb replied.
I took it when she went outside.
What's inside?
I don't know. But she hid it in her bedroom.
I looked toward my locked door.
Then another message appeared.
There's something else.
A photograph followed.
This one showed a printed bank statement.
The account number ended in 7714.
But the name at the top wasn't Jordan's.
It was Vanessa Bennett.
The transaction history showed a deposit of $1,284.60.
Then, three hours later, a transfer of $1,200.
The recipient was a company called Blue Harbor Holdings.
I didn't recognize it.
But I noticed the date.
The money had arrived yesterday.
The same day my ticket disappeared.
I grabbed my phone and hurried downstairs.
Dad was still awake in his office.
The door was open, and the desk lamp cast a warm circle across the papers scattered in front of him.
“Dad?””
He looked up.
“Sweetheart? What's wrong?””
I handed him my phone.
He read the messages.
Then he looked at the photographs.
His face changed.
“Where did Caleb get these?””
“I don't know. He said he found them in the kitchen.””
Dad enlarged the bank statement.
“Blue Harbor Holdings,” he murmured.
“Do you know what that is?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he opened his laptop and searched for the company.
A registered business appeared.
Its address was in Savannah, Georgia.
Its listed owner was Vanessa Bennett.
Dad leaned back.
For a moment, he looked older than I'd ever seen him.
“Dad?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Your stepmother has a company?””
“I guess.””
“She's never mentioned it.””
He opened another window.
Then another.
His fingers moved faster.
Finally, he stopped.
“What?”” I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
There were several transfers listed.
Not one.
Not two.
Twenty-three.
All from accounts connected to our household.
Some were small.
Others were thousands of dollars.
And beside the most recent transaction was a description that made my heart stop.
*MAYA EDUCATION TRUST — PARTIAL WITHDRAWAL.*
I looked at Dad.
“What is that?””
His face went completely still.
May you like
Then he whispered something I had never heard him say before.
“Oh, my God.””
