Chapter 8: The Account Nobody Was Supposed to Find
I called the unknown number.
It went straight to voicemail.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Then I sent a message.
Who is this? What original account are you talking about?
No reply came.
I forwarded the messages to Rachel and drove to a coffee shop near campus. I needed somewhere public, somewhere quiet, somewhere I could think without hearing my father's voice telling me I was destroying the family.
I opened the spreadsheet Ryan had sent.
The first worksheets listed the debts and transfers. The final worksheet contained the so-called exit plan.
But there was another tab I'd overlooked.
It was labeled *BENEFICIARIES*.
I clicked it.
Three names appeared.
Robert Carter.
Madison Carter.
And Patricia Carter.
My aunt's name was connected to a series of transfers totaling $63,500.
I read the figures again.
Sixty-three thousand five hundred dollars.
The money hadn't gone to my father's business.
It had gone to the woman who had supposedly been helping my family manage its finances.
I called Ryan.
"Why is Aunt Patricia listed as a beneficiary?""
He went quiet.
"You found that?""
"Yes. Sixty-three thousand five hundred dollars. What is it?""
"I don't know the whole story.""
"Then tell me the part you know.""
He took a breath.
"Last year, Dad said he was moving money between accounts to protect the business from creditors. Aunt Patricia offered to help because she knew how the university's financial aid system worked.""
"How did she know that?""
"She used to work there, remember?""
"Of course I remember. You think I forgot my own aunt's job?""
"No. I'm just trying to explain.""
"Then explain why she received sixty-three thousand dollars.""
"I asked Dad about it. He said Patricia was holding the money temporarily.""
"Temporarily for what?""
"I don't know.""
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
"Ryan, I'm beginning to think you know more than you're telling me.""
"I swear I don't.""
"Did you receive any money?""
"No.""
"Did Madison?""
"Yes.""
"Did Dad?""
"Yes.""
"Then why is Patricia receiving the largest amount?""
He was silent for so long that I thought the call had dropped.
Finally, he said, "Because Dad owes her.""
"Owes her for what?""
"I don't know. But they fought about it last year. I heard Dad say he had already paid her back.""
I stared through the coffee shop window.
Cars moved along the street. Students walked past carrying backpacks and iced coffees, worrying about exams and weekend plans.
Ordinary problems.
The kind I'd once believed I had.
"I need you to send me everything you have," I told Ryan.
"Every document. Every message. Don't edit anything.""
"I will.""
"And Ryan?""
"Yeah?""
"If you find out something that makes Dad look bad, don't hide it from me.""
He sighed.
"I won't.""
After the call, I contacted Rachel.
She reviewed the spreadsheet and the new messages, then called me back.
"The transfer records are useful, but they don't establish why the money was paid or whether the transfers were authorized. We need bank statements and the original account records.""
"Can we get them?""
"We can pursue lawful requests through the appropriate channels. Don't try to access your aunt's accounts yourself.""
"I wouldn't.""
"Good. Also, the message you received may be from someone who has information about the case. Save it, but don't assume it's accurate until we can verify it.""
I thanked her.
Then I searched my old emails for anything involving Aunt Patricia.
I found a message from three years earlier.
The subject line read: Your college paperwork.
It had been sent from her personal email address to mine.
The message contained only two sentences.
Emily, your mother asked me to help organize some documents for your education account. There's nothing you need to do right now.
At the time, I'd been preparing for midterms. I had replied with a thank-you and forgotten about it.
The email had one attachment.
A file named *Education_Account_Review.pdf*.
I opened it.
The document contained a list of my university expenses, scholarship amounts, and projected tuition costs. At the bottom was a table showing several accounts connected to my student profile.
One account number was partially visible.
I recognized the final four digits.
They belonged to an account I had opened at eighteen.
The savings account my father had promised would help pay for college.
I called the bank where I'd originally opened it.
After verifying my identity, I explained that I suspected the account had been used without my authorization.
The representative placed me on hold.
Ten minutes later, she returned.
"Ms. Carter, the account was closed approximately two years ago.""
"By whom?""
"The closure request was submitted by an authorized account manager.""
"Who was that?""
"Robert Carter.""
My father.
"How much money remained in the account when it was closed?""
"One hundred and twelve dollars.""
I closed my eyes.
"How much had been deposited into it?""
"Over the life of the account, approximately $74,000.""
I nearly dropped the phone.
"Seventy-four thousand dollars?""
"Yes. There were several deposits and transfers. I can arrange for you to receive copies of the account history after we complete the necessary verification.""
"Please do.""
When I ended the call, I sat completely still.
Seventy-four thousand dollars.
My father had told me the account was for my future. I had never been shown the statements. I'd assumed he was saving whatever he could, and that one day I might use it for graduate school or a down payment on a home.
Instead, he had emptied it.
I sent the information to Rachel.
Then I opened my banking app and looked at my current balance.
I had enough to pay my rent, buy groceries, and cover the initial expenses of moving to Boston.
That was it.
My family had taken the money that could have given me a financial cushion, then left me to believe I was poor because I wasn't working hard enough.
For the first time, my anger became something colder.
I wasn't going to beg them to explain.
I was going to make sure they could never use my name again.
At 4:36 p.m., my phone rang.
Aunt Patricia.
I stared at her name before answering.
"Hello?""
"Emily."" Her voice was strained.
"I've been trying to reach you.""
"Why?""
"I heard you've been asking questions about your education account.""
"Someone sent me a message telling me to ask you about the original account.""
She inhaled sharply.
"Who sent that?""
"I don't know. But I have your name on a spreadsheet showing transfers totaling $63,500.""
Silence.
Then she whispered, "Your father wasn't supposed to keep that spreadsheet.""
"Why did you receive the money?""
"Emily, I can't explain everything over the phone.""
"Then explain something.""
She lowered her voice.
"Your parents asked me to help with the paperwork because they were in trouble. I agreed to review some documents. I didn't know your father was going to use them to borrow money.""
"Did you submit my financial aid waiver?""
Another silence.
"Patricia.""
"I helped with the forms.""
"Did you know they redirected my refunds?""
"I thought the money was being used to cover family expenses.""
"Did you receive sixty-three thousand dollars?""
Her voice cracked.
"That money wasn't mine.""
"Then why was it transferred to you?""
"Because I was holding it for someone.""
My pulse quickened.
"Who?""
She started crying.
"Emily, I wanted to tell you. I really did. But your father said that if anyone found out where the money went, all of us would be in trouble.""
"Where did it go, Patricia?""
She whispered a name.
Not my father's.
Not Madison's.
Someone else's.
Someone I had trusted for nearly my entire life.
Before I could ask another question, she said, "Meet me tomorrow morning. I'll bring the original records.""
"Why should I trust you?""
"You shouldn't," she replied.
"Not yet.""
Then she hung up.
A minute later, another message appeared from the unknown number.
Don't meet Patricia alone.
I stared at the screen.
The sender had somehow known I was speaking to her.
May you like
A second message followed.
She isn't the only one who has been lying about the money.
