Chapter 6: The Money My Mother Left Behind
I read the first withdrawal three times.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Each line showed money leaving the account my mother had established for me before she died.
Some withdrawals were small: $500, $750, $1,200.
Others were devastating.
$6,000.
$8,500.
$12,000.
By the time I reached the final page, my hands were shaking so badly that Dad took the papers from me before I could tear them accidentally.
“This can't be right,” I whispered.
Dad pulled out the chair beside me.
“I'm going to contact the bank first thing tomorrow. We'll request the complete records and find out exactly what happened.””
“Where did the money go?””
“I don't know yet.””
I pointed to one of the entries.
“This one says jewelry.””
He nodded grimly.
“And this one says a transfer to an account ending in 4821.””
I swallowed.
“Is that Vanessa's account?””
“I don't recognize the number.””
The house suddenly felt unfamiliar.
I'd lived there since I was fourteen. I'd learned to drive in the driveway, studied for exams at the kitchen table, and sat on the stairs crying after my first serious breakup.
My mother had been gone for years, but the savings account had always made me feel as if a small piece of her was still protecting me.
Now almost everything was gone.
“Dad,” I whispered, “how could she do this?””
He looked down at the documents.
“I don't know, sweetheart.””
His voice broke slightly on the last word.
That frightened me more than his anger.
My father was a man who liked answers. He kept receipts, filed tax documents early, and labeled folders by year. If a contractor overcharged him by twenty dollars, he'd notice before the invoice cleared.
Yet someone had been withdrawing money from my account for three years.
And he'd never known.
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
“I worked double shifts to buy that dress. I skipped meals to afford my laptop. I thought I was being responsible.””
“You were,” Dad said immediately.
“Meanwhile, she was taking money Mom left me.””
Dad reached across the table and held my hand.
“Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. The person who took the money is responsible for what happened.””
I wanted to believe him.
But another thought kept circling my mind.
“What if it wasn't Vanessa?””
Dad studied the paperwork.
“Then we'll find out who it was.””
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
We both looked toward the staircase.
Vanessa appeared carrying a small suitcase. Her face was blotchy from crying, but her posture was rigid.
She stopped when she saw the papers spread across the table.
For the first time that evening, she looked genuinely startled.
“What are those?””
Dad didn't answer.
Vanessa walked closer.
Then she saw the account number.
Her suitcase slipped from her hand and struck the floor.
“Oh, Michael.””
Dad stood.
“How long?””
She shook her head.
“How long have you been withdrawing money from Emily's account?””
“I can explain.””
“Not that phrase again,” he said.
“Give me an answer.””
Vanessa looked at me.
“Emily, sweetheart, you need to understand that things were difficult when your father and I first married.””
I stared at her.
“Don't call me sweetheart.””
She flinched.
“We had bills. Madison needed things. The house needed repairs. Your father was working constantly, and I was trying to keep everything together.””
“With my mother's money?””
“It wasn't like that.””
I pointed to the statements.
“Then what was it like?””
Vanessa twisted her wedding ring.
“Your father told me the account was there for your future. He said you wouldn't need it for years.””
Dad's voice sharpened.
“I told you the account was protected for Emily. I never gave you permission to withdraw from it.””
“You made me feel like an outsider in this family!””
“So you took her money?””
“I borrowed it!””
“How much did you borrow?”” I demanded.
Vanessa looked away.
Dad slid the statements toward her.
“Forty-three thousand dollars was deposited into that account over the years, including interest and additional contributions. There's less than thirteen hundred left. Where did the rest go?””
Vanessa began crying.
“Some of it went toward household expenses.””
“Which ones?””
She hesitated.
“Repairs. Bills. Things the family needed.””
I picked up a statement and pointed at a transaction.
“Why was $4,200 sent to Daniel Brooks?””
Vanessa went completely still.
Dad's face hardened.
“You transferred Emily's money to him?””
“That was different.””
“How?””
“He needed help paying a debt.””
“And you decided my daughter's inheritance was yours to give away?””
“I was going to put it back!””
“When?””
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
“When I could.””
“Three years wasn't enough time?””
She didn't answer.
I felt something inside me go quiet.
For years, I'd tried to earn Vanessa's approval. I'd washed dishes after dinner, helped Madison with schoolwork, and swallowed my anger when my things disappeared.
I'd told myself that if I became easier to live with, she'd eventually treat me like family.
But she'd been taking money from my mother's account while lecturing me about generosity.
The cruelty of it was almost too much to comprehend.
“Did Madison know?”” I asked.
Vanessa shook her head quickly.
“No. Madison had nothing to do with this.””
A voice came from the stairs.
“That's not true.””
Madison stood halfway down, holding her phone.
Her face was pale.
Vanessa spun toward her.
“Go to your room!””
“No.””
“Madison, don't make this worse.””
Madison descended the remaining steps and placed her phone on the table.
“I saw the transfers.””
Vanessa stared at her.
“What?””
“Last month. I was looking for the vacation confirmation on your laptop because you told me to print it. Your bank account was open, and I saw a transfer from Emily's savings.””
My stomach twisted.
“You knew?””
“I didn't know the whole story,” Madison said quickly.
“I thought Mom was moving money between accounts. She told me Dad had agreed to it.””
Dad looked at Vanessa.
“Did I?””
Madison shook her head.
“No. When I asked her, she told me not to worry about it.””
Vanessa's expression turned vicious.
“You went through my private information?””
“You left it open!””
“And now you're betraying your own mother?””
Madison's eyes filled with tears.
“You told me family was supposed to share!””
The words struck the room like a slap.
For the first time, Vanessa had no immediate answer.
Dad gathered the statements into a neat pile.
“Tomorrow morning, I'm contacting the bank, our attorney, and the appropriate authorities. We'll establish exactly what happened and what can be recovered.””
Vanessa gripped the back of a chair.
“You wouldn't report your own wife.””
“If my daughter's money was taken without authorization, I have a responsibility to address it.””
“You'll ruin my life!””
Dad looked at her steadily.
“You should have considered that before risking hers.””
Vanessa snatched up her suitcase.
“Fine. I'll leave. But don't expect me to sit quietly while you turn everyone against me.””
“No one is turning anyone against you,” Dad replied.
“Your decisions have consequences.””
She marched toward the front door.
Then she stopped and looked back at me.
“You think you've won, Emily? You think your father will always choose you?””
I held her gaze.
“I never asked him to choose me over you. I asked you to stop taking what belongs to me.””
For once, I didn't look away.
Vanessa opened the door and disappeared into the night.
The door slammed.
Madison sank into a chair, covering her face.
Dad stood by the window, watching Vanessa's car pull away.
I gathered the statements and carried them to my bedroom, but sleep was impossible.
Around midnight, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
The message contained no greeting, only a photograph of a document.
I opened it.
It was a bank transfer confirmation showing another withdrawal from my mother's account.
The date was three days earlier.
The amount was $15,000.
Beneath it was a message.
Your stepmother isn't the only person who benefited from your mother's money.
Another message appeared before I could respond.
Ask your father why he signed the original account authorization.
I stared at the screen, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Because beneath the transfer confirmation was a scanned signature.
May you like
My father's.
And suddenly, I wasn't sure whether the man who had defended me that evening knew more about my mother's money than he'd admitted.
