Chapter 6: The Account I Never Knew About
The snow kept falling between Mason and me.
Soft.
Quiet.
Almost peaceful.
Which felt completely wrong.
Because my entire life had just split into two versions.
The one I believed.
And the one my family had hidden.
“What do you mean there was more money missing?””
My voice came out low.
Mason looked over his shoulder toward the house.
Like he was afraid someone would hear.
That alone made my stomach turn.
Because Mason was never afraid of anything.
Not arguments.
Not consequences.
Not disappointing people.
But now he was scared.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he whispered.
I stared at him.
“Then why are you?””
He looked down at the snow.
For once, he didn’t have an easy answer.
Finally, he said, “Because tonight was messed up.””
I almost laughed.
“Messed up?””
He looked at me.
“Okay. More than messed up.””
I waited.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I overheard Dad talking to someone last month.””
“Who?””
“I don’t know. Some guy from the bank.””
My heart tightened.
“What did he say?””
Mason hesitated.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“I recorded part of it.””
I stared at him.
“You recorded your own father?””
His expression hardened.
“I didn’t mean to.””
That was the first thing he said that sounded honest.
“He was in the garage. I was looking for my old football stuff. They didn’t know I was there.””
He unlocked his phone.
My fingers curled around the suitcase handle.
“Play it.””
Mason looked at me.
“Briar—”
“Play it.””
He pressed a file.
The audio was rough.
A lot of background noise.
Then I heard my father’s voice.
“I told you, the account was supposed to cover the expenses temporarily.””
My blood ran cold.
A second voice answered.
“You moved money from multiple sources, Richard. This isn’t a temporary solution.””
Richard.
My father.
I held my breath.
Dad’s voice came again.
“I had no choice.””
The other man sounded frustrated.
“You always say that.””
A pause.
Then my father whispered:
“If I hadn’t done something, we would have lost everything.””
The recording ended.
I stared at Mason.
“That’s it?””
He nodded.
“But there was more.””
“What?””
He looked uncomfortable.
“I deleted the rest.””
My eyes narrowed.
“Why?””
“Because I heard Dad say your name.””
My stomach dropped.
“What did he say?””
Mason looked away.
“I don’t remember exactly.””
“Try.””
He was quiet.
Then:
“He said you were the only one who could fix it.””
The words hit harder than I expected.
Because that was always the role they gave me.
The fixer.
The responsible one.
The person who cleaned up everyone else’s disasters.
I looked back at the house.
The warm lights.
The decorated windows.
The place I had called home.
And suddenly it didn’t feel like home anymore.
It felt like a machine.
And I had been the power source.
“What account?”” I asked.
Mason frowned.
“What?””
“You said there was another account.””
His face changed.
“I don’t know.””
“You said money was missing.””
He nodded slowly.
“Yeah.””
“Then tell me what you know.””
Mason looked at me.
For a moment, I saw something I hadn’t seen in years.
Guilt.
“When you were eighteen, Dad opened something.””
“What?””
“I don’t know.””
I stepped closer.
“Mason.””
“I’m serious. I don’t know exactly.””
“Then why bring it up?””
“Because I remember Grandma getting angry.””
I froze.
“When?””
“A few years ago.””
My mind raced.
“About what?””
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
“About Dad having access to something.””
I waited.
“She asked him why he was listed as a person connected to your finances.””
The snow landed on my coat.
I barely felt it.
“What did Dad say?””
Mason swallowed.
“He said it was normal.””
I laughed quietly.
Normal.
That word.
People used it when they wanted you to stop asking questions.
“What else?””
“That’s all I heard.””
I looked at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
His face changed.
Because he knew the answer.
“I don’t know.””
“No.””
My voice sharpened.
“You do.””
Mason looked down.
“I thought Dad knew what he was doing.””
I stared at him.
“And you thought I did too?””
He didn’t answer.
That hurt.
More than I expected.
Because Mason wasn’t a stranger.
He was my brother.
The person who was supposed to protect me when our parents couldn’t.
Instead, he watched.
He watched while I worked.
He watched while I paid.
He watched while everyone treated my sacrifices like a family tradition.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
The apology was small.
But real.
And somehow, that made it harder.
Because I wanted to hate him.
It would have been easier.
But Mason wasn’t the only problem.
He was just another person who benefited from me staying quiet.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Where?””
I looked at him.
“I don’t know.””
He frowned.
“You can’t just walk around on Christmas Eve.””
I almost smiled.
“Funny.””
“What?””
“For years, everyone told me I was independent.””
I lifted my suitcase.
“Now that I’m actually doing it, everyone thinks it’s a problem.””
I turned away.
“Briar.””
I stopped.
Mason’s voice was different.
“You’re going to the lawyer tomorrow, right?””
“Yes.””
“Ask him about the account.””
I looked back.
“What account?””
He hesitated.
Then said:
“The one Dad never wanted Grandma to find.””
My chest tightened.
“You know about this account?””
“No.””
“Then how do you know it exists?””
Mason looked toward the house.
“Because I saw the paperwork.””
“When?””
“Last year.””
“Where?””
He swallowed.
“In Dad’s office.””
The answer made my stomach drop.
“What paperwork?””
“I don’t know.””
He shook his head.
“But I remember one thing.””
“What?””
He looked at me.
“Your name was on it.””
The cold suddenly felt sharper.
I turned away from him.
I couldn’t process everything.
Not standing outside my childhood home.
Not with a suitcase in my hand.
Not after finding out my family had been keeping secrets about my own money.
I walked down the driveway.
This time, nobody called my name.
Nobody chased after me.
And somehow, that hurt.
Because part of me had still hoped they would.
I walked three blocks before my phone rang.
I almost ignored it.
But then I saw the screen.
Jonathan Reed.
The lawyer.
I answered.
“Hello?””
“Ms. Parker?””
“Yes.””
“I apologize for calling so late.””
“It’s okay.””
There was a pause.
Then his voice became serious.
“Are you currently with your family?””
I stopped walking.
“No.””
“Good.””
The way he said that made my stomach tighten.
“Why?””
“Because before our meeting tomorrow, there is something you need to know.””
I looked around.
The neighborhood was silent.
Christmas decorations glowed from every house.
Families were inside.
Together.
“Okay.””
Mr. Reed took a breath.
“When your grandmother created the trust, she hired a private investigator.””
My eyebrows pulled together.
“A private investigator?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Another pause.
Then:
“Because she believed someone close to you had been manipulating your finances for years.””
I closed my eyes.
I already knew the answer.
But I needed to hear him say it.
“Who?””
His voice lowered.
“Briar…”
“Yes?””
“The investigation wasn’t about your father.””
I froze.
“What?””
“It was about your mother.””
The street disappeared around me.
“What?””
“There are records showing your mother accessed financial accounts connected to you before your grandmother’s death.””
My hand tightened around the phone.
“That’s impossible.””
“I wish it were.””
I couldn’t speak.
Because suddenly, every memory changed.
Every time Mom asked about my paycheck.
Every time she wanted to “help organize” my accounts.
Every time she told me she knew what was best.
I thought it was love.
I thought it was parenting.
But maybe it was something else.
“Mr. Reed…”
“Yes?””
“What did she find?””
The lawyer was silent for a moment.
Then he said:
“Your grandmother discovered a transfer made three weeks before she passed away.””
My heart pounded.
“How much?””
His answer came quietly.
“Fifty thousand dollars.””
I stopped walking.
The snow fell around me.
“From where?””
Another pause.
Then:
“From the account your grandmother created for you when you were born.””
I couldn’t breathe.
Because there was only one person who knew about that account.
One person who had always told me she was protecting me.
My mother.
And then Mr. Reed said the words that changed everything:
May you like
“Briar, your grandmother didn’t just leave you a trust.””
“She left you evidence.””
