“I worked to earn my scholarship!””
“And you were already getting a scholarship!”” she shouted.
“You didn't need every penny your father could give you!””
Dad's hand struck the table.
The plates rattled.
“Enough!””
Denise flinched.
Dad rarely raised his voice. When he did, even Jordan went silent.
“My daughter worked every day after school. She earned her grades. She saved her own money. I promised to help her attend college, and you took money from that account without my permission.””
“I was protecting my son!””
“You were stealing from my daughter.””
Denise's eyes filled with angry tears.
“After everything I've done for this family, you choose her over me?””
Dad stared at her.
“This isn't a competition.””
“It always has been!”” she cried.
“Everything is Maya, Maya, Maya. Her grades. Her scholarships.
Her precious dead mother. You spend your entire life trying to make sure that girl never feels a moment of disappointment!””
I felt as though the air had been punched from my lungs.
Dad's face turned rigid.
“Do not bring Elena into this.””
“Why not? You never stopped living in her shadow!””
For a moment, Dad looked like a man who had been struck somewhere deep inside.
Then he gathered the bank statements into a neat stack.
“You have until tomorrow morning to provide the full records of every transfer and show me where the money went.””
Denise wiped her cheeks.
“And if I don't?””
“Then I'll let the bank and the authorities determine what happened.””
She stared at him.
“You wouldn't dare.””
“Try me.””
Jordan abruptly stood.
“This is insane! I didn't steal anything!””
Dad looked at him.
“Then you should be willing to cooperate.””
“I'm not giving you access to my bank account!””
“You don't have to give me anything. The bank records already show where the money went.””
Jordan's face drained of color.
Denise grabbed his wrist.
“Come upstairs.””
“Mom—”
“Now.””
She pulled him toward the staircase.
Before disappearing around the corner, Jordan looked back at me.
His expression wasn't angry anymore.
It was frightened.
I sat motionless while Dad collected the papers.
“Is the car really mine?”” I whispered.
He looked at me as though the question hurt more than anything Denise had said.
“Yes, sweetheart.””
“Even after all this?””
“Especially after all this.””
I stared at the keys.
“I don't care about the car anymore. I just want to go to college.””
Dad crouched beside my chair.
“And you will.””
“What if the money is gone?””
He took both my hands.
“Then we'll find another way.””
“But you worked so hard.””
“So did you.””
My eyes burned.
“I don't want you to have to work yourself to death because of me.””
Dad shook his head.
“You are not a burden, Maya. You never have been.””
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him.
For a moment, I was nine years old again, crying into his shirt after my mother's funeral.
He held me until my breathing steadied.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
A message from the bank.
His expression changed as he read it.
“Dad?””
He didn't answer immediately.
He enlarged an attachment and studied the details.
“What is it?””
He looked at me.
“The bank found the original transfer authorization.””
My heart began pounding.
“Does it say who approved it?””
Dad turned the phone toward himself again.
“Yes.””
He swallowed.
“And Maya, the signature on the authorization isn't mine.””
Dad placed his phone on the dining table as though it had suddenly become dangerous.
I stared at the message.
The bank had attached a scanned authorization form, complete with a transaction reference number, the account details, and a signature at the bottom.
Marcus Williams.
My father's name.
Except the signature looked wrong.
I had watched Dad sign birthday cards, school permission slips, mortgage documents, and the dozens of forms that seemed to arrive at our house every month.
His capital M always began with a sharp upward stroke.
The signature on the screen had a rounded M and an exaggerated loop beneath the last name.
“That's not his signature,” I whispered.
Dad shook his head.
“No, it isn't.””
Denise had been standing halfway up the stairs.
She descended slowly when she heard us.
“What are you two looking at?””
Dad didn't answer.
She approached the table and glanced at the phone.
For a fraction of a second, her face lost all expression.
Then she reached for it.
“Let me see that.””
Dad moved it out of reach.
“Why?””
“Because I want to know what the bank is accusing us of now.””
“Us?””
She stiffened.
“Don't play games with me, Marcus.””
He enlarged the document.
“Do you recognize this authorization?””
Denise leaned over the table.
Her eyes moved across the page.
“No.””
“You haven't even read it.””
“I can see your name.””
“That's precisely the problem.””
She straightened and folded her arms.
“Perhaps someone forged it. Perhaps an employee made a mistake. You keep insisting there's some elaborate crime here, but you haven't proven anything.””
Dad studied her.
“That's why we're getting the original records.””
“Fine.””
She turned toward the kitchen.
“I'm not wasting my evening on this.””
“Denise.””
She stopped.
“You said the transfers were temporary. You admitted moving the money. Don't pretend you know nothing about the authorization.””
Her shoulders stiffened.
“I never said I moved it without permission.””
Dad stared at her.
“You said you moved it.””
“I said I was helping Jordan.””
“Those aren't the same thing.””
She spun around.
“Do you have any idea what it's like to raise a son who watches you struggle to keep up with everyone around him? Jordan sees Maya getting scholarships and awards while he has nothing to show for himself. He needed a chance to get ahead.””
“So you gave him her college savings?””
“I borrowed it!””
“Without asking me?””
“You would have said no!””
The room went silent.
Denise seemed to realize what she'd revealed.
She pressed her lips together and looked toward the staircase.
Dad's voice became frighteningly calm.
“Go upstairs. Don't touch any financial paperwork. Tomorrow, we're going to the bank together.””
“I have an appointment in the morning.””
“Cancel it.””
“You can't order me around!””
“No,” Dad replied.
“But I can refuse to let you access any more of my daughter's money.””
Denise stared at him.
Then she turned and climbed the stairs, each step hard enough to make the railing tremble.
A bedroom door slammed.
I remained seated, unable to stop staring at the signature.
“Dad, what if she forged it?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“We don't know that yet.””
“But you said it wasn't yours.””
“I know what my signature looks like. That doesn't mean I know who signed this.””
I hesitated.
“Can the bank get the money back?””
“They'll investigate. We'll provide everything they need.””
“And if they can't?””
He looked directly at me.
“Then we'll deal with that when we know the facts.””
I wanted him to promise everything would be fine.
I wanted him to tell me the money was still somewhere safe, that I'd wake up tomorrow and discover this had been a terrible misunderstanding.
But Dad had taught me that promises meant something.
He didn't make them simply because someone wanted to hear them.
So I nodded.
“Okay.””
He squeezed my shoulder.
“Go get some rest. You've had enough for one day.””
I carried the keys upstairs.
My bedroom was the smallest in the house, with a narrow bed, a secondhand desk, and a window overlooking the driveway.
The red bow was still attached to the car.
Jordan had left it there.
I could see him through the window, standing beside the sedan with his phone pressed to his ear.
He paced between the driver's door and the garage, speaking in sharp whispers.
Then he looked up.
Our eyes met through the glass.
He immediately turned away.
I sat on my bed and opened the photograph Dad had sent me months earlier.
The white sedan.
The message beneath it.
Imagine this parked outside your college dorm, princess.
I pressed the phone against my chest.
For four years, that car had meant freedom.
Now it felt like evidence of how badly my family had fractured.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
I expected Dad.
Instead, Jordan opened the door without waiting.
“Can we talk?””
I didn't answer.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Look, I know you're mad.””
I laughed once, without humor.
“That's what you came to tell me?””
“I'm trying to explain.””
“Then explain.””
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Mom said Dad had agreed to help me buy a car.””
“With my college money?””
“I didn't know it was your money!””
“You had twenty-eight thousand dollars transferred into your account, Jordan.””
He looked away.
“She told me it was money Dad had set aside for the family.””
“And you believed her?””
“She said Dad knew.””
I stood.
“Then why did you look terrified when he showed us the bank statement?””
Jordan's jaw tightened.
“Because Dad gets scary when he's angry.””
“No. You were scared because you knew something.””
He stepped toward me.
“Don't do this, Maya.””
“Do what?””
“Make me look like some kind of criminal.””
I stared at him.