Chapter 2: The Money in the College Account
“Long enough to hear Dad's name,” I answered.
Denise stared at me for a moment before slipping her phone into her pocket.
“You should learn to knock.””
“I was walking upstairs.””
“Then you should walk more quietly.””
She stepped into the hallway, blocking my path.
“What exactly did you hear?””
I tightened my grip on the red bow.
“You said something about Dad finding out where the money went.””
A muscle twitched in her cheek.
“That's an adult conversation.””
“Is it about my college account?””
The question came out before I could stop it.
Denise's eyes sharpened.
“Why would you think that?””
“Because every time I ask about college expenses, you tell me there's not enough money. But Jordan gets new electronics, expensive clothes, and cash whenever he asks.””
She gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Your brother is going through a difficult period. He needs support.””
“He quit college.””
“He's trying to figure out his future.””
“So am I!””
My voice rose, and Denise immediately lifted one finger.
“Don't start.””
I looked at the phone in her pocket.
“Did you take money from my college account?””
For a second, she said nothing.
Then she stepped closer.
“You need to be very careful about making accusations you can't prove.””
“I'm asking you a question.””
“And I'm telling you that your father handles the family's finances. If you have concerns, ask him.””
“I would if you ever let me talk to him without telling him I'm being disrespectful.””
Her expression hardened.
“Your father trusts me because I have never given him a reason not to. I suggest you remember that before you start inventing stories.””
She turned toward her bedroom.
Then she paused.
“Oh, and Maya?””
I looked up.
“Don't go searching through my things. If you invade my privacy, I will make sure your father knows exactly what kind of daughter he's raising.””
She shut the door.
I stood there for several seconds, listening to the click of the lock.
Then I went upstairs.
My room was the smallest in the house, tucked beneath the sloping roof. During summer, the ceiling trapped heat until my desk lamp felt like a miniature heater. In winter, cold air crept through the window frame.
But it was mine.
On the wall above my desk hung a photograph of Mom holding me at the beach. I was five, my hair tangled from the wind, my arms wrapped around her neck.
I sat on the bed and stared at it.
“Would you tell me what to do?”” I whispered.
The room offered no answer.
I pulled out my phone and opened Dad's contact.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
I could tell him everything.
The car.
The bus pass.
The way Denise had spoken about Mom.
The conversation I'd overheard.
But I imagined his exhausted face when he answered. I imagined Denise appearing behind him, shaking her head and silently telling him I was making trouble again.
I imagined him saying, Maya, can this wait until I get home?
So I did something I hadn't done in years.
I opened our old messages.
There were hundreds of them.
Photographs of crooked birthday cakes, reminders to bring an umbrella, silly jokes he'd sent from construction sites. Buried between them was the message about the car.
Imagine this parked outside your college dorm, princess.
Below it, he'd written:
You've earned every bit of this. I'm proud of you.
My eyes burned.
I took a screenshot.
Then I opened my banking app.
Dad had created a college savings account for me when I was eleven. He'd explained that he wanted me to begin adulthood without the burden of student loans if he could help it.
I'd never been allowed to manage the account myself, but every year on my birthday, he'd shown me the balance.
The last time had been six months earlier.
There had been enough to cover most of my first two years at the state university I'd chosen.
I entered the login details he had given me and waited for the screen to load.
My fingers went cold.
*Available balance: $1,842.17.*
I blinked.
Then I refreshed the page.
The number didn't change.
Six months earlier, the account had contained more than $38,000.
I sat perfectly still.
Maybe there had been a tuition payment. Maybe Dad had transferred the money into another account. Maybe the app was showing the wrong balance.
I checked the transaction history.
One withdrawal.
Then another.
Then another.
Thousands of dollars had been transferred in amounts ranging from $2,000 to $7,500.
The transactions began eight months ago.
The most recent was dated three days earlier.
I read the recipient name.
*D. HARTWELL CONSULTING.*
Denise's maiden name was Hartwell.
My phone slipped from my fingers and landed on the bed.
“No,” I whispered.
I picked it up and examined the transactions again.
There was no mistake.
Thirty-six thousand dollars had disappeared from the account my father had spent years building for my future.
I took screenshots of every transaction.
Then I searched the recipient name online.
A small business registration appeared, listing a mailing address across town and a registration date from the previous year.
There was no website. No business phone number. No public description of the company's services.
I checked the address.
It belonged to a commercial mailbox center.
My heartbeat grew louder.
I didn't know whether Denise had stolen the money. I didn't know whether Dad had authorized the transfers. But I knew that someone had moved my college savings into an account connected to her name.
And she had just warned me not to investigate.
At six thirty, I heard the garage door open.
Dad was home.
I rushed downstairs before Denise could intercept him.
He stood in the kitchen, loosening his tie with one hand while carrying his battered lunch cooler in the other.
When he saw me, his face brightened.
“There she is. My graduate.””
He opened his arms.
I walked into them, and for a moment I was nine years old again, hiding my face against his shirt because I missed Mom.
“Hey,” he murmured, rubbing my back.
“What's wrong?””
I wanted to tell him.
I wanted to pull out my phone and show him every transaction.
Instead, the words tangled in my throat.
“Dad, can we talk?””
“Of course.”” He set down his cooler.
“What's going on?””
Before I could answer, Denise swept into the kitchen carrying a bowl of salad.
“Richard, you're home early.””
She kissed his cheek and glanced at me.
It was a tiny glance, but I understood the message.
Try me.
Dad smiled tiredly.
“Traffic wasn't bad.””
Denise set the bowl on the table.
“Maya had a difficult afternoon.””
I turned toward her.
“You gave Jordan my car.””
Dad's smile disappeared.
“My what?””
Denise sighed as if she were disappointed that I'd brought it up.
“Richard, I explained that the car would be more useful to Jordan. Maya is still seventeen, and Jordan needs transportation to look for work.””
“You gave him my car?”” Dad asked again.
“It's a family vehicle,” Denise replied smoothly.
“I thought we should make a practical decision.””
Dad looked at me.
“Did you agree to this?””
“No.””
“Did you tell me you wanted Jordan to have the car?””
“No.””
He turned back to Denise.
“Then why is he driving it?””
She crossed her arms.
“Because somebody in this house has to make decisions. You aren't home enough to see what everyone needs.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“I bought that car for Maya.””
“And I thought you might reconsider when you understood the situation.””
“What situation?””
Denise hesitated.
Then she looked at me.
“Maya was very upset. She shouted at Jordan and threatened to take the keys from him. I didn't want them fighting over a car.””
I stared at her.
“You handed him the keys before I even knew you were planning to give it away!””
“See?”” Denise said, turning to Dad.
“This is exactly what I mean. She can't have a conversation without becoming emotional.””
Dad raised his hand.
“Both of you, stop.””
The room went quiet.
He looked at me first.
“Maya, go upstairs for a minute.””
My heart sank.
“Dad—”
“Please. I need to talk to Denise.””
I watched his face, searching for some sign that he believed me.
There was concern in his eyes.
But there was also exhaustion.
I went upstairs.
For twenty minutes, I sat on my bed listening to muffled voices below.
At one point, Denise raised hers.
“I'm trying to keep this family together!””
Then Dad said something too quiet for me to hear.
A door slammed.
Footsteps crossed the hallway.
I hurried to the top of the stairs.
Dad stood in the kitchen alone, staring at the counter.
“Dad?””
He looked up.
“Hey, kiddo.””
“Are you mad at me?””
His face softened immediately.
“No. Why would I be mad at you?””
“Because Denise said I was making trouble.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Your stepmother and I disagree about a few things. That's all.””
“But the car—”
“We'll discuss it tomorrow. I need to make a few calls tonight.””
I swallowed.
“Dad, there's something else.””
He looked at me carefully.
“What is it?””
I took out my phone.
The screenshots were ready.
I opened the first one.
“I checked my college account.””
The color drained from his face.
For the first time all day, my father looked truly frightened.
“What do you mean, you checked it?””
“The balance is only eighteen hundred dollars.””
He reached for my phone.
“Show me.””
I handed it to him.
He studied the transactions, his expression changing with every swipe.
When he reached the name D. Hartwell Consulting, he stopped.
“Where did you get this?””
“From the account history.””
“Did you download the statements?””
“Yes.””
“Every page?””
“I took screenshots of everything I could see.””
He looked toward the hallway.
Then he lowered his voice.
“Maya, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Do not tell Denise that you showed me this.””
“Dad, is that your money?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he opened the final transaction and stared at the date.
Three days earlier.
Then he looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before.
“Did Denise tell you anything about a financial problem?””
“No.””
“Did she ask you to sign anything?””
“No.””
He closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, he was no longer the tired man who had come home from work.
He was alert.
Focused.
Angry.
“Maya, I want you to go upstairs and stay there until I call you.””
“Why?””
“Because I need to find something.””
He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.
When someone answered, he spoke in a voice so quiet I could barely hear him.
“This is Richard Bennett. I need an emergency review of the family accounts.””
A pause.
May you like
Then he said six words that made my knees weak.
“It's worse than we thought, Daniel.””
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