Chapter 2: The Transaction She Couldn't Explain
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time the house creaked, I sat up in bed. Every time I heard footsteps in the hallway, I shoved my phone beneath my pillow and pretended to be asleep.
At 1:13 a.m., someone tried my bedroom door.
The handle turned once.
Then twice.
“Hannah?”” Karen called softly.
I didn't answer.
“Are you awake?””
I stared at the thin strip of light beneath the door.
“I'm sleeping,” I finally said.
“Open the door. We need to talk.””
“It's late.””
“Don't take that tone with me.””
I heard her exhale sharply.
Then came the sound of something sliding across the floor.
“I'm leaving this outside. You can read it in the morning.””
Her footsteps retreated down the hallway.
I waited five minutes before opening the door.
A sheet of paper lay on the carpet.
It was a handwritten agreement.
At the top, Karen had written my name.
Below it were three sentences.
I understand that household expenses must be shared.
I agree that my stepmother may manage my savings for the benefit of the family.
I will not make accusations about purchases made on my behalf.
At the bottom was a blank line for my signature.
I read it twice.
Then I photographed it.
Karen hadn't simply taken my money. She wanted a piece of paper she could wave in front of Dad and claim I'd agreed to everything.
I folded it carefully and put it in my desk drawer.
At breakfast, she was already waiting at the kitchen island.
A mug of coffee sat beside her. Madison was eating cereal, her new laptop open next to the bowl.
Karen slid a pen across the counter.
“Sign the agreement.””
I looked at the paper.
“No.””
Her eyebrows rose.
“Excuse me?””
“I'm not signing something that says I gave you permission when I didn't.””
Karen placed her mug down with a hard clink.
“Your father will be very disappointed to discover how disrespectful you've become.””
“Then ask him.””
Her expression changed.
“Don't use your father as a weapon.””
“You took my money. I'm allowed to tell him.””
Madison lowered her spoon.
“Can you two please stop fighting?””
I turned toward her.
“Did you know Mom used my savings to buy your laptop?””
She looked at Karen, then at me.
“Mom said it was family money.””
“Family money?””
“You live here too,” Madison muttered.
“That's not an answer.””
Karen stood so quickly that her chair scraped across the tile.
“Enough. Madison, go upstairs.””
“But—”
“Now.””
Madison shut her laptop and left, carrying her cereal bowl with her.
Karen waited until her footsteps disappeared before turning back to me.
“You have no idea how much this household costs.””
“Then use your own account.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You think you're clever because you took screenshots?””
My stomach dropped.
She had seen me photographing the transactions.
“Those screenshots won't help you,” she continued.
“You're seventeen. Your father gave me access to the household tablet, and you left your banking information sitting there.””
“You transferred money without permission.””
“You're going to regret making this ugly.””
She reached for the agreement.
“Sign it, Hannah.””
I stepped away from the counter.
“No.””
For several seconds, she stared at me.
Then she smiled again.
“Fine. We'll let your father decide.””
She snatched the paper off the counter and tore it in half.
The pieces fluttered onto the floor.
I watched her walk away.
When I was sure she couldn't hear me, I went upstairs and called the bank.
The customer service representative introduced herself as Denise.
After verifying my identity, she asked what had happened.
“Someone transferred money out of my account without permission,” I said.
“And I found charges I don't recognize.””
“I'm sorry you're dealing with this, Hannah. Let's review the transactions together.””
I read the dates and amounts aloud.
Denise paused after the $900 withdrawal.
“Did you make this withdrawal yourself?””
“No.””
“Did you give anyone permission to use your debit card or online banking credentials?””
“No.””
“Do you know who may have accessed your account?””
I hesitated.
“My stepmother.””
Denise didn't react emotionally. Her voice remained calm and professional.
“I'm going to document your report. We'll also need to secure your account and review the transactions. Because you're seventeen, there may be additional steps depending on how your account was opened.””
“Can you get the money back?””
“I can't promise that. The bank will investigate, and the outcome depends on the details of each transaction.””
I closed my eyes.
At least someone was taking me seriously.
Denise helped me change my password and arranged for the bank to review the unfamiliar activity. She told me to preserve the receipt, screenshots, and any messages related to the transactions.
Before ending the call, she asked one question that made me sit up straighter.
“Has anyone told you that you must sign an agreement concerning this money?””
I stared at my desk drawer.
“How did you know?””
“I didn't. I'm asking because documentation can be important when you're disputing transactions.””
I thanked her and ended the call.
For the first time since the grocery store, I felt as if I had done something useful.
Then I returned to my account history.
The jewelry-store charge had a location attached to it.
I opened a map and recognized the address immediately.
It was a store in downtown Cleveland where Karen had taken Madison shopping the previous spring.
The department-store charge was from the same shopping district.
The $900 withdrawal, however, came from a different location.
A gas station near the highway.
I remembered that night.
I'd come home from work at ten, exhausted and hungry. Karen had been standing in the kitchen, wearing her coat and holding her car keys.
“Where are you going?”” I'd asked.
“Out.””
“At this hour?””
She'd looked at me as if I were a stranger.
“Do I need your permission to leave my own house?””
“No.””
“Then don't ask questions.””
Now I stared at the transaction again.
11:47 p.m.
The exact time she had been gone.
I wrote the details in a notebook, along with everything else I remembered.
Dates. Amounts. Conversations.
I didn't know whether it would help, but I wanted a record that couldn't disappear with a broken phone or a deleted app.
At noon, Mrs. Patterson knocked on my bedroom door.
She was a retired nurse with silver hair, bright blue eyes, and a habit of bringing over baked goods whenever she suspected something was wrong.
This time, she carried a plate of peanut butter cookies.
“You look like you haven't slept,” she said.
“I haven't.””
She set the plate down.
“Your father called me.””
I looked up.
“He did?””
“He asked if I'd keep an eye on you until he gets home.””
My throat tightened.
“Did he tell you what happened?””
“He told me enough to know that you're upset.””
I stared at the cookies.
“Karen says I'm selfish because I want my money back.””
Mrs. Patterson pulled out the chair beside my desk.
“Let me ask you something, sweetheart. If you found a hundred dollars in your neighbor's purse, would you get to keep it because you bought groceries for your own family?””
“No.””
“Then why should someone get to keep your money because they bought groceries for theirs?””
I had no answer.
She reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Your father loves you. Let him handle this.””
“He's three hours away.””
“Not for long, I suspect.””
After she left, I checked my email.
Dad had replied to the screenshots.
His message contained only three lines.
I saw everything.
Do not sign anything Karen gives you.
Call me if she touches your money or your phone again.
I read the message until the screen dimmed.
Then another email arrived.
It was from Dad again.
This one had an attachment.
The subject line read: *Something I found in the house account.*
I opened it.
It was a bank statement for an account I didn't recognize.
The account belonged to Karen.
A transfer of $1,200 had been made into it on August 12.
The same day she'd bought Madison's laptop.
I read the entry again.
Then I scrolled down.
There were two earlier deposits, each for $450.
Both were labeled with the same reference number.
And beside the second deposit, Dad had typed a single sentence.
Hannah, I never gave Karen permission to move money from this account either.
I stared at the screen.
That account wasn't mine.
It was the joint household account Dad used to pay the mortgage and utilities.
If Karen had taken money from that account too, then my savings might not have been her only target.
I called him immediately.
“Dad, what is this?””
“It's the household account.””
“Why was money transferred into Karen's personal account?””
“I don't know yet.””
“Could it be a mistake?””
“I checked the statements. The amounts don't match any bills.””
I swallowed.
“Dad, what if she's been doing this for months?””
He didn't answer right away.
Then he said, “That's what I'm trying to find out.””
I heard the familiar clatter of tools in the background.
“Are you still at work?””
“Not anymore.””
My heart jumped.
“What do you mean?””
“I spoke to my supervisor. I'm heading home.””
“When?””
“Tonight.””
I sat down on the bed.
“Dad, please don't do anything stupid because of me.””
“Sweetheart, this isn't your fault.””
“I don't want you to lose your job.””
“I won't.””
“And I don't want you and Karen to get divorced because of this.””
Silence stretched between us.
Then Dad spoke so quietly that I almost missed it.
“Hannah, if someone has been taking money from our family, that's their decision. Whatever happens next won't be your fault.””
After we hung up, I heard Karen's voice from downstairs.
She was talking on the phone.
“No, he doesn't know about that account.””
I froze.
My bedroom door was open an inch.
I moved toward it silently.
Karen's voice dropped.
“He only knows about the computer. I'm handling that.””
A pause.
Then she said, “Because if he finds the paperwork, we're both finished.””
My hand tightened around the phone.
We're both finished.
Who was she talking about?
And what paperwork could possibly be worse than stealing from her husband and his daughter?
I stepped away from the door, but my elbow brushed the frame.
A small sound.
Barely anything.
Yet downstairs, Karen stopped talking.
“Hello?”” she called.
I held my breath.
Her footsteps began moving toward the stairs.
“Hannah?””
I backed into my room and reached for the doorknob.
But before I could close the door, Karen appeared at the top of the staircase.
Her phone was still pressed to her ear.
Her face was pale.
And for the first time since I'd known her, she looked genuinely afraid of me.
“Who were you talking to?”” I asked.
Karen lowered her phone.
“Nobody.””
“Then why did you say Dad couldn't know about the account?””
Her lips parted.
No answer came.
Then a voice crackled through the phone's speaker.
A man's voice.
“Karen? Is she there? Did she hear us?””
Karen stared at me.
And I recognized the voice.
It belonged to someone who had no reason to be involved in our family's finances.
Someone who had been coming to our house while Dad was away.
May you like
Someone Karen had always introduced as an old family friend.
Uncle Rick.
