Chapter 2: The Money in My Name
“Before either of you says another word, I want to see the original statement.””
My father's voice was quiet, but it carried the kind of authority that could silence an entire boardroom.
Vanessa blinked.
“David, I already told you what happened.””
“I heard you. Now I want the original statement.””
She gave a nervous laugh and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“It's on my phone.””
“I can see that. Where did you get it?””
“From the household financial records.””
“What household financial records?””
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“The ones I manage. The records you asked me to organize last year.””
Dad set his briefcase on the kitchen table.
“Then open the bank application.””
“Why?””
“Because I asked you to.””
For the first time since I had known her, Vanessa looked at a loss for words.
She glanced at me, then back at Dad.
“This is ridiculous. I'm trying to help you understand what's happening, and you're treating me like a criminal.””
“I'm asking you to show me three transactions.””
“You don't trust me?””
“Vanessa.””
He said her name once.
She unlocked her phone.
I watched her fingers move across the screen. She opened a banking application, tapped through several menus, then held the phone out toward him.
“There. Happy?””
Dad took it.
I leaned forward, trying to see the screen.
The dates were from the previous three months. Each transaction was labeled as a transfer to an external account.
My name appeared beneath the account nickname.
But something was wrong.
The account number was unfamiliar.
I had a checking account at a local credit union. It was the account where my bookstore wages were deposited. I had opened it at seventeen with Dad sitting beside me, helping me understand the paperwork.
The account shown on Vanessa's phone belonged to a different bank.
“I don't have an account there,” I said.
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“Of course you'd say that.””
“I'm telling the truth!””
“Then why is your name on the transfers?””
“I don't know!””
Dad enlarged the screen.
“Vanessa, did you personally make these transfers?””
She crossed her arms.
“I manage the bills. I move money when it's necessary.””
“That's not what I asked.””
Her jaw tightened.
“Yes. I transferred the money.””
My heart began pounding.
“Why?””
“Because your father has expenses.””
“Then why is it going to an account in my name?””
Vanessa looked at Dad.
“She's trying to twist my words. I told you she's been acting strangely.””
Dad ignored her.
“Emily, come sit down.””
I pulled out a chair, keeping my eyes on the bank statement.
He sat across from me.
“Have you ever given Vanessa permission to open an account in your name?””
“No.””
“Have you signed any banking documents recently?””
“No.””
“Have you received any money from these transfers?””
“No, Dad. I swear.””
He studied my face for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.””
One word.
It wasn't a declaration that he believed me completely, but it was enough to let me breathe again.
Vanessa, however, looked furious.
“David, you're being manipulated.””
He turned to her.
“I'm trying to establish what happened.””
“And I'm telling you what happened!””
“You've shown me three transfers. You haven't explained why they went into an account Emily says she doesn't own.””
“Maybe she forgot.””
I stared at her.
“Forgot that I opened a bank account?””
“People forget things when they're under pressure.””
“Stop saying I did something I didn't do!””
Vanessa slapped her palm against the table.
“Don't raise your voice at me!””
Dad stood so abruptly that his chair scraped across the tile.
“Enough.””
Both of us went silent.
He looked at Vanessa.
“Did you hit my daughter?””
Her mouth fell open.
“David, I already told you—”
“I'm asking you again. Did you hit her?””
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears so quickly that I almost couldn't believe it.
“I was trying to stop her from throwing things. She was screaming at me, and I reached out to calm her down. I might have touched her face.””
“You might have touched her face?”” Dad repeated.
“She was out of control!””
I stared at her in disbelief.
“You slapped me so hard I hit the counter!””
Vanessa spun toward me.
“Because you were threatening me!””
“I never threatened you!””
Dad moved between us.
“Vanessa, go into the living room.””
She looked at him as if he had just insulted her in front of a thousand people.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
“This is my home too.””
“And she's my daughter.””
The words hung in the air.
For a moment, I thought Vanessa might actually leave.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
“Fine. But don't come crying to me when you discover what she's been doing behind your back.””
She snatched her phone from the table and marched out of the kitchen.
Her heels struck the hallway floor with sharp, angry clicks.
A door slammed.
Dad waited until the sound faded.
Then he came around the table and crouched beside my chair.
“Let me see your face.””
I turned my cheek toward him.
His expression crumpled.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
He reached for my hand.
I hadn't cried when Vanessa hit me. I hadn't cried when she called me a stranger. I hadn't even cried when Dad walked in and she tried to make me look like a liar.
But when he touched my hand and looked at me with the same tenderness he had shown me as a child, my tears finally fell.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered.
I wiped my face with my sleeve.
“You didn't do anything.””
“I should have noticed.””
“Dad, she's good at making everything sound like my fault.””
He looked toward the hallway.
“How long has this been going on?””
I hesitated.
That question was harder than he realized.
I could have told him about the photographs Vanessa had boxed up. The scarf she had thrown away. The way she made little comments about my mother whenever Dad wasn't around.
I could have told him that, for two years, I had been trying to become so easy to live with that Vanessa would have nothing left to complain about.
Instead, I said, “A while.””
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I did.””
He opened his eyes.
I looked down at my hands.
“Every time I tried, she told me you were stressed. She said you were worried about money. She said I was making your life harder.””
Dad's face changed.
“Emily, I have never told her to make you feel unwelcome.””
“I know.””
“And I have never asked her to charge you rent.””
“I know that too.””
He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The kitchen clock ticked above the doorway. Somewhere outside, a lawn mower started up, its steady hum drifting through the open window.
Then Dad glanced at the statement again.
“Those transfers bother me.””
“Me too.””
“I'm going to call the bank.””
He took his phone from his pocket.
Before he could dial, I reached across the table.
“Dad?””
He stopped.
“What if she really did open an account in my name?””
His expression grew serious.
“Then we're going to find out how.””
He called the bank's fraud department and put the phone on speaker.
After several minutes of automated menus, a representative answered. Dad explained that he had discovered three suspicious transfers from his checking account.
The representative asked him to verify his identity, then requested the transaction dates.
I listened as he read them aloud.
“Thank you, Mr. Carter,” the representative said.
“I can see the transfers you're referring to. Would you like me to open a fraud investigation?””
“Yes,” Dad replied.
“And I'd like to know where the funds were sent.””
“I'm afraid I can only provide details regarding the receiving account after completing additional verification. However, I can confirm the account was added as an external transfer destination approximately four months ago.””
Dad frowned.
“Four months ago?””
“Yes, sir.””
“Who added it?””
“I'm unable to disclose that information over this call. We can flag the account for review and arrange for our security department to contact you.””
“Do that.””
He ended the call and leaned back.
Four months.
I remembered that period clearly. I had been preparing for final exams and working extra shifts at the bookstore. Dad had been traveling frequently, and Vanessa had started insisting that I leave my mail unopened on the hallway table because she wanted to sort it herself.
At the time, I hadn't thought much about it.
Now, I remembered something else.
A small envelope from the bank had arrived while I was at work. When I returned, it was gone.
I turned toward Dad.
“Did you ever receive a letter saying someone had tried to access your bank account?””
He shook his head.
“No. Why?””
“Because I remember an envelope arriving from your bank around four months ago. Vanessa said she'd put it somewhere safe.””
Dad stared at me.
“Did you see the envelope?””
“No. I only saw the bank logo.””
He slowly stood.
“Stay here.””
“Where are you going?””
“To find out what else has been put somewhere safe.””
He walked into the hallway.
I heard the office door open, followed by the scrape of a drawer.
Then another.
A minute later, Dad called my name.
I hurried into his office.
He stood beside the desk, holding a thin folder. Several documents lay scattered across the polished wood.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he handed me a piece of paper.
It was a bank authorization form.
My name appeared at the top.
My date of birth was correct. My address was correct. Even the last four digits of my Social Security number were correct.
But the signature at the bottom wasn't mine.
I stared at it.
Someone had copied my name in careful, deliberate handwriting.
“Dad,” I whispered, “I never signed this.””
“I know.””
He pointed to the date.
The form had been submitted four months earlier.
Then I noticed the section beneath the signature.
*AUTHORIZED ACCOUNT MANAGER: VANESSA CARTER.*
My father went completely still.
For several seconds, he looked as if he couldn't decide whether to sit down or tear the paper in half.
Then he picked up his phone.
“I'm calling our attorney.””
Before he could dial, the office door opened.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
Her eyes landed on the form in my hand.
All the color drained from her face.
“Where did you get that?”” she demanded.
Dad turned toward her.
“That's what I'd like to know.””
She stepped into the room and reached for the paper.
“Give it to me.””
I pulled it back.
“Why? You signed my name.””
“I did not!””
“You're listed as the account manager!””
“Because I was helping David organize his finances!””
Dad held up his hand.
“Then explain why Emily's signature is on a form she says she never signed.””
Vanessa's gaze darted toward the desk.
For a split second, I followed it.
An open drawer contained several envelopes, a small notebook, and a stack of papers secured with a rubber band.
Vanessa moved in front of the desk.
“You're making a terrible mistake,” she said to Dad.
“You don't know what you're looking at.””
“Then explain it.””
“I can't explain something I didn't do!””
Dad took a step toward her.
“Did you forge my daughter's signature?””
Vanessa's face twisted.
“Your daughter has been poisoning you against me since the day we got married!””
I flinched.
Dad didn't.
“Answer the question.””
She looked at me with naked hatred.
Then, suddenly, she smiled.
It was a cold, unfamiliar smile.
“You want the truth?”” she asked.
“Fine. Ask your daughter why she has a key to the basement storage room.””
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?””
“Everything.””
She pointed toward me.
“Because the money wasn't the only thing she was hiding.””
Dad looked between us.
“Vanessa, what are you talking about?””
She took a slow breath.
Then she delivered the words that made the room seem to tilt beneath my feet.
“Your daughter has been going into your late wife's storage room at night, and I have proof of what she's been taking.””
I felt my stomach drop.
I hadn't entered that room in weeks.
Vanessa had changed the locks herself.
But she was already reaching into her handbag.
And when she pulled out the photograph, I recognized the room immediately.
May you like
What I couldn't understand was why the picture showed me standing inside it.
Or who had taken it.
