Chapter 2: The $49,800 Nobody Was Supposed to Know About
My stepsister had spent three weeks believing our father couldn't afford to help her attend college.
Now she was standing in front of a fifty-thousand-dollar SUV, holding proof that almost the entire purchase price had come from money meant for her future.
I watched Tasha read the bank notice again.
Her hands shook so badly that the paper crinkled between her fingers.
“Maybe there's been a mistake,” I said, although I didn't believe it.
She shook her head.
“No.””
Her voice was barely audible.
“I know this account.””
I glanced toward the driveway.
Marcus was still standing beside the Highlander.
Mom had moved closer to him, and the two of them were speaking in low voices.
Their expressions had changed.
The embarrassment from my outburst had disappeared, replaced by something much more unsettling.
Fear.
Not the kind of fear people feel when their neighbors witness an argument.
The kind that appears when someone realizes a secret has been discovered before they were ready to explain it.
“Tasha,” I whispered, “how much money was in the trust?””
She swallowed.
“I don't know exactly.””
“How can you not know?””
“Because Dad handled it.””
She stared down at the notice.
“Mom left it for me before she died. I was told it would help with college and living expenses when I got older.””
I remembered the few things Tasha had told me about her mother.
Her name had been Denise.
She had died when Tasha was young, leaving Marcus to raise their daughter alone.
Tasha rarely spoke about her.
When she did, she talked about small things.
The way Denise sang while cooking.
The way she tucked handwritten notes into Tasha's school lunch.
The way she had once promised that, even if she couldn't be there forever, she would find a way to help her daughter build a good life.
Tasha had kept one of those notes inside a photo album in her bedroom.
I had seen it once.
The handwriting was faded, but Tasha had memorized every word.
Now she was holding a bank notice suggesting that the money Denise had left behind had been used to buy my birthday present.
“Did you know?”” she asked me.
I felt my stomach drop.
“Know what?””
“That Dad might have used my trust.””
“No.””
She studied my face.
I understood why she was asking.
If I had known, it would have meant I had accepted the SUV while understanding what it had cost her.
But I hadn't known.
I had thought Marcus and Mom were simply spending their own money.
That didn't make the gift feel any less sickening.
It made it worse.
Because the car I had dreamed about receiving was now tied to a promise made by a dead woman to her daughter.
And I had almost driven away in it without ever knowing.
Behind us, Marcus shouted.
“Tasha! Bring that paper here.””
She flinched.
The reaction was so immediate that I instinctively stepped between them.
“Don't yell at her.””
He stared at me.
“This is a private family matter.””
“Then explain it to your family.””
“Give me the notice, Tasha.””
She clutched it against her chest.
“Why was money taken out of my trust?””
Marcus glanced at our neighbors.
Several were still watching from their front yards.
One had even stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Not here,” he said sharply.
Tasha shook her head.
“You told me there was no money for my college deposit.””
“I said we couldn't afford to pay for everything you wanted.””
“You said the account was too small to help me.””
He went silent.
Tasha's voice cracked.
“You said I needed to get a job and stop expecting people to hand me things.””
Mom hurried forward.
“That's enough, Tasha. Your father has done everything he can for this family.””
Tasha turned toward her.
“Then why did he take money my mother left me?””
Mom's face tightened.
“No one took anything from you.””
I pointed at the notice.
“Then what does this say?””
She looked at the paper.
For a fraction of a second, her eyes lingered on the amount.
Then she looked away.
“Financial paperwork can be confusing.””
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“Forty-nine thousand eight hundred dollars went to a car dealership. What part of that is confusing?””
“Lower your voice,” Mom hissed.
I almost laughed.
Apparently, the only thing that mattered to her was whether the neighbors could hear us.
Marcus approached Tasha and held out his hand.
“Give me the notice.””
She stepped back.
“No.””
His expression darkened.
“What did you say?””
“I said no.””
The word sounded unfamiliar coming from her.
Tasha had spent six years learning how to avoid upsetting him.
She apologized when she hadn't done anything wrong.
She asked permission for things I did without thinking.
She even thanked him when he gave her money she had earned herself, as though she needed to prove she appreciated every small kindness.
But now, for the first time I could remember, she stood her ground.
“I want to know what happened to my mother's money,” she said.
Marcus looked at me.
“This is your fault.””
I blinked.
“My fault?””
“You've turned her against me.””
I stared at him in disbelief.
“She read the notice herself!””
“You've been filling her head with nonsense about favoritism.””
“I didn't put the transaction in that account.””
He stepped closer.
“Do you have any idea how much this family has sacrificed for you?””
I looked at Tasha.
Then at the SUV.
Then at the paper in her hands.
“Apparently, you've been sacrificing her future to make my birthday look expensive.””
Mom slapped her palm against her thigh.
“Stop it!””
I turned toward her.
“Did you know?””
She froze.
It was a simple question.
Did she know that the money used for my birthday gift belonged to Tasha?
Did she know that, while Tasha had been working evenings and worrying about college applications, someone had been moving money out of an account established by her late mother?
Mom's silence stretched between us.
“Mom,” I repeated, “did you know where the money came from?””
She drew herself up.
“Your stepfather manages the finances.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
“You're seventeen, Maya. You don't understand adult financial decisions.””
“Then explain them to me.””
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Tasha let out a small, broken laugh.
It wasn't a happy sound.
It was the sound of someone finally understanding why so many things in her life had never made sense.
“That's why,” she whispered.
I turned toward her.
“Why what?””
She looked at the SUV.
“The college deposit. The money for my textbooks. The shoes I needed for work.””
Her eyes filled again.
“Every time I asked, he said we couldn't afford it.””
Marcus's face reddened.
“Watch yourself.””
“But you could afford this.””
She gestured toward the vehicle.
“For Maya.””
I wished I could erase the whole scene.
I wished I could take the bank notice from her hands and somehow return her to the version of herself who still believed her father was simply struggling to provide for two daughters.
But the truth had already found her.
And once she saw it, there was no way to make her unsee it.
“Dad,” she said, “did you ask me before using that money?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“I was going to explain everything.””
“When?””
“Later.””
“After Maya drove away in the car?””
He looked at me sharply.
“This has nothing to do with Maya.””
I stepped forward.
“It has everything to do with me. You used money from her trust to buy me a birthday present!””
“We're a family,” he snapped.
“Then why does she have to beg for everything?””
He didn't answer.
Mom reached for Tasha's arm.
“Come inside. We'll discuss this privately.””
Tasha pulled away.
“No.””
The single word made Mom stop.
“I want the account records.””
Marcus laughed without humor.
“You don't know what you're asking for.””
“I want to know how much money is left.””
“You're being emotional.””
“It's my money!””
Her voice cracked so loudly that one of the neighbors turned toward us.
For a moment, Marcus looked as if he might shout back.
Instead, he glanced around the driveway and lowered his voice.
“You have no idea what your mother intended that money to cover.””
Tasha went still.
“What does that mean?””
He didn't answer quickly enough.
I saw her face change.
“Dad,” she whispered, “what else haven't you told me?””
He reached for the notice again.
She stepped away.
And then he said something that made the entire situation feel even more dangerous.
“Your mother left instructions that you were too young to understand.””
Tasha stared at him.
“What instructions?””
He looked toward Mom.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
It was a tiny movement.
But I saw it.
And so did Tasha.
“Why are you looking at Mom?”” she asked.
Neither of them answered.
The three of us stood in the driveway, surrounded by pink balloons and birthday decorations, while the black Highlander gleamed in the morning sunlight.
I had wanted a car.
I had wanted freedom.
I had wanted a birthday that felt special.
Instead, I was watching my stepsister discover that the money meant to give her a future might have been taken without her permission.
And the people who were supposed to protect her were standing in front of her, trying to make her feel guilty for asking questions.
Tasha folded the bank notice carefully.
Then she slipped it into the cream-colored envelope.
“I'm going to the bank,” she said.
Marcus shook his head.
“You're not going anywhere until we settle this.””
She looked at him.
“Then call the bank yourself.””
For the first time, he had no immediate response.
Tasha reached for my hand.
We turned toward the sidewalk again.
This time, Marcus didn't call us back.
But as we reached the corner, my phone began vibrating.
Mom was calling.
I rejected it.
A second later, a text appeared.
Come home now. Your father is trying to fix this.
Before I could respond, another message arrived.
You have no idea what you've done.
I stared at the screen.
Then I looked at Tasha.
She was crying silently, still holding the envelope against her chest.
“I don't want to go home,” she whispered.
I squeezed her hand.
“Then we won't go back until we understand what's happening.””
Neither of us knew where we would go.
Neither of us knew whether the trust still contained enough money for Tasha to attend college.
But we knew one thing.
We weren't going to accept another explanation that began with be grateful.
As we walked toward the bank, Tasha pulled the notice out one more time.
Her eyes caught a detail near the bottom that she hadn't noticed before.
A reference number.
And beneath it, a note identifying the transaction as a payment made under an authorization connected to the trust.
Tasha stopped walking.
“Maya?””
“What?””
She pointed at the line.
“This wasn't just money Dad had access to.””
I leaned closer.
“What do you mean?””
Her face had gone pale again.
“He had to authorize this withdrawal.””
I looked at the words.
Then I understood.
Whatever had happened, the money hadn't simply disappeared from an account.
May you like
Someone had approved the transaction.
And we were about to find out exactly who.
