Chapter 5
I stared at the photo until the screen blurred.
Dad did too.
The woman beside him was young.
Maybe late twenties.
Dark hair.
Blue scrubs under a jacket.
Dad looked exhausted.
The motel sign glowed behind them.
I looked at him.
“What is this?”
His face changed instantly.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
“That's Melissa.”
“Who is Melissa?”
“Your grandmother's hospice nurse.”
I blinked.
“What were you doing at a motel with Grandma's hospice nurse?”
Dad sat down.
“Your grandmother wasn't at the care facility that night.”
“What?”
“She had a medical episode while we were moving her belongings. Melissa came to help.”
“At a motel?”
Dad looked confused.
“No. That picture is cropped.”
He took my phone and enlarged it.
“You see that red sign?”
“Yes.”
“That's not the motel entrance. That's the emergency animal clinic next door.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Your grandmother's dog got sick the same night. I took him to the emergency vet because she was in the hospital and Melissa came with me after her shift.”
The more he explained, the stranger the photo looked.
It had clearly been taken from across the parking lot.
“Who took it?” I asked.
Dad's expression hardened.
“That is the better question.”
Another text arrived.
Your stepmother knows plenty more.
Dad immediately forwarded everything to Officer Ramirez.
Then blocked the number.
I sat beside him.
“Could Diane have been following you?”
“I don't know.”
“But someone was.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“This is bigger than five thousand dollars.”
I hated that he was right.
The next morning we went to the bank before it opened.
Dad had barely slept.
Neither had I.
A manager named Mrs. Kaplan took us into a private office.
Dad placed the police report number, his identification, my identification, and copies of the suspicious transaction records on her desk.
She spent almost an hour reviewing them.
Then she asked me something I wasn't expecting.
“Maya, did you ever authorize Diane Bennett to transact from your savings account?”
“No.”
“Did you give her your online banking password?”
“She already knew it.”
“How?”
I looked at Dad.
“She helped set up the account when I was fourteen.”
Mrs. Kaplan nodded.
“Was she listed as joint owner?”
Dad answered.
“No. I was the custodian initially because Maya was a minor. When we updated the account last year, I thought only Maya and I had access.”
Mrs. Kaplan turned her monitor slightly away from us while she checked.
Then she frowned.
“There was an authorized user added eleven months ago.”
Dad's face tightened.
“Who?”
“Diane Bennett.”
“I never approved that.”
Mrs. Kaplan looked concerned.
“There is an electronic authorization.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
Dad stared at her.
“No.”
“Mr. Bennett, the request was submitted through your online banking login.”
“I didn't submit it.”
Mrs. Kaplan's expression became serious.
She asked whether Diane knew Dad's password.
He looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“Did she have access to your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Then we'll need to investigate that authorization too.”
Dad leaned back.
Eleven months.
This wasn't an impulsive decision after Trey's arrest.
Diane had positioned herself to access my money almost a year earlier.
Mrs. Kaplan printed records for investigators.
Then she helped Dad remove every access permission Diane had from the accounts he controlled.
New passwords.
New authentication.
New security questions.
Then she looked at me.
“We can open a new account solely under your name when you meet the eligibility requirements, but because you're still seventeen, your father will remain involved depending on the account structure.”
Dad nodded.
“Fine.”
I asked the question that mattered.
“Can I get my money back?”
Mrs. Kaplan was careful.
“The bank will investigate the unauthorized transfers. The outcome depends on account ownership, authorization history, timing, and fraud findings.”
“So maybe?”
“Maybe.”
It wasn't enough.
But it wasn't no.
Then Dad went to Grandma's bank.
That meeting was worse.
They showed us transfers totaling more than $27,000.
Diane had moved money over nearly six months.
Some transfers happened after Grandma died.
Some happened before.
Dad stared at one date.
“My mother was unconscious in the hospital that day.”
The bank employee looked uncomfortable.
“This transaction was authenticated using online credentials.”
“She couldn't even speak.”
The room became silent.
Dad asked for every record available to him as executor.
They gave him instructions for a formal fraud dispute.
When we walked outside, he looked ten years older.
“I should have checked everything.”
“You were grieving.”
“That isn't an excuse.”
“It explains it.”
He looked at me.
“You sound like your grandmother.”
That almost made me cry again.
We were halfway to the car when his phone rang.
It was Trey.
Dad almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“What?”
Trey sounded panicked.
“Dad, I need to talk to you.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I'm not your father.”
There was a pause.
“I know.”
That hurt him.
I could see it.
Despite everything, Dad had treated Trey like a son.
Trey continued.
“I found something at Aunt Linda's house.”
Dad stopped walking.
“What?”
“Mom left her purse here.”
“Okay.”
“There are two driver's licenses in it.”
Dad looked at me.
“One is hers?”
“Yes.”
“And the other?”
Trey took a breath.
“Maya's.”
My blood turned cold.
“I don't have a driver's license,” I whispered.
Dad repeated into the phone, “Maya doesn't have a driver's license.”
“I know.”
“What does it look like?”
“It has Maya's picture.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“How?”
Dad's voice sharpened.
“Send me a photo.”
Seconds later, his phone buzzed.
The image looked real at first glance.
Texas driver's license.
My full name.
My birthday.
My address.
My photo.
But I had never taken that photo for any license.
Then I recognized it.
It was my school yearbook photo.
Dad whispered, “Jesus.”
Trey said, “There's something else.”
“What?”
“A debit card.”
“Whose name?”
“Maya's.”
I started shaking.
Dad put the call on speaker.
“What bank?”
Trey read the name.
It wasn't either bank we had visited.
Dad searched the name online.
“Is there an account number?”
“I see the last four digits.”
Dad wrote them down.
Then Trey suddenly went quiet.
“What?” Dad asked.
“Mom just came downstairs.”
We heard Diane in the background.
“Trey?”
His breathing changed.
“Where is my purse?”
Dad whispered, “Do not confront her.”
Trey ignored him.
“Mom, whose license is this?”
Silence.
Then Diane said, “Give me that.”
“What did you do?”
“Trey.”
“Why do you have a fake license with Maya's name?”
“Trey, give me my purse.”
There was a rustling sound.
Then Aunt Linda's voice.
“What is going on?”
Diane shouted, “He went through my things!”
Trey shouted back, “You made a fake ID for Maya!”
Dad grabbed his keys.
“We're going over there.”
I followed him.
He turned.
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No, Maya.”
“That's my identity.”
“And that's exactly why you're staying somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
He thought for a second.
Then called his closest friend, Mr. Parker, whose daughter Elena had been my friend since elementary school.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in Elena's living room while Dad drove toward Aunt Linda's house.
He made me promise not to leave.
I hated it.
I wanted to know what was happening.
Elena sat beside me.
She knew only part of the story.
When I showed her the picture of the fake driver's license, her eyes widened.
“This is insane.”
“Tell me about it.”
Her mother brought me tea.
I couldn't drink it.
My phone kept buzzing with notifications as Dad forwarded documents to himself and copied me.
Then one message came directly from him.
Stay inside. Police are here.
My heart raced.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then forty.
Finally Dad called.
“Are you okay?”
“I should ask you that.”
He exhaled.
“Diane left before I got here.”
“What?”
“She took Rick's truck.”
“Rick was there?”
“No. The truck was.”
That made no sense.
“Why was Rick's truck at Aunt Linda's?”
“Linda says Diane arrived in it last night.”
I stood.
“So she's been seeing him?”
“Yes.”
“What about the fake license?”
“Trey gave it to the police.”
“And the debit card?”
“Also police.”
I lowered my voice.
“What bank was it?”
Dad told me.
“Did you call?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He was silent too long.
“Dad?”
“There is an account in your name.”
My legs weakened.
“How much?”
“It isn't a savings account.”
“What is it?”
“A business account.”
I stared at the wall.
“I don't own a business.”
“I know.”
“What business?”
Dad inhaled slowly.
“MB Home Services.”
“My initials?”
“Yes.”
“What does it do?”
“The bank wouldn't tell me much without more verification.”
“Then what do we know?”
Dad didn't answer immediately.
When he finally did, his voice sounded angry.
“There have been more than eighty thousand dollars in deposits over the last seven months.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Eighty thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Where did that money come from?”
“We don't know.”
I heard a car door in the background.
Then another voice.
Officer Ramirez.
Dad said, “I have to go.”
“Why?”
“They found Diane.”
“Where?”
“At Rick's house?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
May you like
Dad paused.
“At the airport.”
