Chapter 2
The security guard moved immediately.
The glass doors clicked shut.
Everyone in the lobby turned.
The teller who had laughed at me stared at the floor.
My heart started pounding.
“What do you mean someone tried to withdraw six million dollars?”
The manager looked at me carefully.
“What’s your name?”
“Evan Hayes.”
“I’m Richard Coleman. I manage this branch.”
He lowered his voice.
“Evan, I need you to come into my office.”
I took one step back.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“That’s what adults say right before they decide what happens to me.”
The words came out sharper than I expected.
For a second, he didn’t answer.
Then he nodded.
“Fair enough.”
He pointed toward the glass office behind the counter.
“You can keep the door open.”
I looked at the locked front entrance.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then unlock the doors.”
“I can’t do that yet.”
My stomach dropped.
Richard saw my face.
“Not because of you. The withdrawal attempt may be connected to fraud. Until we understand what happened, I don’t want anyone involved leaving.”
The man who had laughed behind me suddenly stopped smiling.
“Are you saying one of us did it?”
Richard ignored him.
The security guard walked toward the lobby.
“Nobody is being accused of anything. Please remain calm.”
I followed Richard into the office.
The teller came with us.
Her nameplate said AMANDA.
She wouldn’t look at me now.
Richard sat behind his desk.
I stayed standing.
He typed my name.
Then he froze.
“What?”
He turned the screen away slightly.
I noticed.
“Don’t do that.”
“Evan—”
“It’s my account.”
He studied me.
Then he turned the monitor back.
There it was.
EVAN MICHAEL HAYES IRREVOCABLE TRUST.
My name.
Under it was a number so large I had to count the commas twice.
$8,472,611.38.
My legs felt weak.
Two months earlier, I’d been searching vending machines for forgotten change.
Three nights ago, I had slept in a twenty-four-hour laundromat until the owner made me leave.
That morning, I had eaten half a granola bar.
And apparently I had eight million dollars.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Richard scrolled.
“This account was established twelve years ago.”
“When I was three?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
He read something.
“Walter Hayes.”
My grandfather.
I felt like someone had punched me.
Grandpa Walter had raised me after my mother died.
He had packed my school lunches.
Taught me how to change a tire.
Sat through terrible middle-school concerts and clapped louder than everybody.
But he had never said anything about millions.
He died eleven weeks ago.
A stroke.
At least, that was what Aunt Denise told me.
After the funeral, everything changed.
Richard kept reading.
“Your grandfather funded the trust over a number of years. There were investments, property sales, dividend transfers…”
I barely heard him.
“Why didn’t I know?”
“That’s a question for the trustee.”
“Who’s that?”
Richard’s face tightened.
“Your grandfather was the original trustee.”
“And after he died?”
He clicked.
His eyes changed.
“Apparently, a successor trustee was supposed to be appointed by the law firm that prepared the trust.”
“Supposed to be?”
“There’s no successor listed in our system.”
Amanda finally spoke.
“That could be why the withdrawal triggered the fraud alert.”
Richard nodded.
“What withdrawal?”
He opened another screen.
“This morning at 9:14 a.m., someone initiated a transfer request for six million dollars.”
“To who?”
He hesitated.
“Hayes Family Development LLC.”
I stared at him.
I knew that name.
Aunt Denise’s company.
She had started it with her son Tyler.
My twenty-three-year-old cousin.
I had heard them talking about it.
Usually late at night.
Usually when they thought I was asleep.
They were developing condos somewhere outside the city.
Or trying to.
Grandpa used to say their business was a “hole where money goes to die.”
My hands went cold.
“That belongs to my aunt.”
Richard leaned forward.
“Your legal guardian?”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“She was.”
“Was?”
“She kicked me out.”
Amanda looked up.
Richard’s expression hardened.
“How long ago?”
“Three weeks.”
“You’re fifteen.”
“I know.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Different places.”
“Does your school know?”
“I stopped going.”
Richard leaned back slowly.
The office became painfully quiet.
Amanda covered her mouth.
I looked at her.
She dropped her hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what part?”
Her face turned red.
“For what I said out there.”
“You thought I was homeless.”
She swallowed.
“I did.”
“You were right.”
That hurt her more than if I had yelled.
Good.
Richard picked up the phone.
“I’m contacting our fraud department and the police.”
I stood.
“No police.”
“Evan—”
“No.”
“My aunt told me the police would return me to her if they found me.”
Richard paused.
“Why did she kick you out?”
I looked at Amanda.
Then at him.
“Because I asked about Grandpa’s will.”
Richard slowly put the phone down.
“Tell me what happened.”
I didn’t want to.
But the six-million-dollar transfer was glowing on the screen.
So I did.
After Grandpa died, Aunt Denise came to the house the same afternoon.
Not the next day.
Not after the funeral.
The same afternoon.
She walked through his bedroom carrying trash bags.
She took his watches.
His files.
His laptop.
Even the old wooden box he kept beside his bed.
When I asked what she was doing, she said Grandpa had left everything to her.
I believed her.
Why wouldn’t I?
She was his daughter.
My mother had been her younger sister.
A week after the funeral, Denise moved me into her house.
Grandpa’s home was “being prepared for sale.”
She put me in the basement.
Tyler took my laptop because Denise said it legally belonged to the estate.
Then my phone disappeared.
Then my nicer clothes.
Denise said she was selling unnecessary things to pay Grandpa’s debts.
I asked if he really had that many debts.
She slapped me.
Once.
Hard.
Then she smiled.
“Your grandfather spoiled you, Evan. That stops now.”
Two days later, I overheard Tyler asking her when the trust would unlock.
When I walked into the kitchen, they stopped talking.
That was when I started asking about the will.
Denise told me there was no trust.
No inheritance.
Nothing.
I kept asking.
Finally, she dragged my backpack downstairs and threw it at me.
“If you think you’re so grown, survive like a grown man.”
She locked the door behind me.
I had twenty-three dollars.
I never went back.
When I finished, Richard’s jaw was tight.
Amanda was crying.
I hated that.
I didn’t need her tears.
I needed someone to explain why my aunt had tried to steal six million dollars.
Richard turned the monitor again.
“There’s something else.”
He showed me the authorization attached to the attempted transfer.
A scanned document.
At the bottom was a signature.
Mine.
Except I had never signed it.
“That’s fake.”
“I assumed so.”
Then I saw the date.
Yesterday.
Yesterday, I had been sitting in a public library trying to figure out how to access Grandpa’s old email.
I had found one message he sent me three months before he died.
It contained four words.
Remember the black card.
That was why I was at the bank.
I had found the card hidden inside my passport cover exactly where Grandpa had told me to keep the passport.
“I didn’t sign that.”
Richard nodded.
“Then someone committed forgery.”
Suddenly there was pounding on the bank’s glass doors.
Everybody turned.
A woman was outside.
Expensive coat.
Blond hair.
Pearl earrings.
Furious face.
Aunt Denise.
She saw me through the glass.
Her entire expression changed.
For one second, she looked terrified.
Then she started shouting.
I couldn’t hear the words.
But I could read her lips.
OPEN THIS DOOR.
Richard stood.
“Is that your aunt?”
I couldn’t answer.
Denise pointed directly at me.
Then she screamed something at the security guard.
He looked toward Richard.
Richard stepped out of the office.
I followed.
Denise slammed both hands against the glass.
“That boy stole from me!”
Even through the doors, we heard it.
The lobby went silent again.
The security guard looked at Richard.
“Should I let her in?”
I whispered, “Don’t.”
But Richard’s eyes were on Denise.
“No.”
Her face twisted.
She pulled out her phone.
Thirty seconds later, Richard’s desk phone rang.
He answered.
“This is Richard Coleman.”
I could hear Denise screaming from across the room.
“That child is a runaway! That card belongs to my father’s estate! You are holding stolen property!”
Richard’s voice stayed calm.
“Ms. Hayes, did you attempt to transfer six million dollars from Evan Hayes’s trust this morning?”
Silence.
Then more shouting.
Richard’s eyes narrowed.
“No. I will not discuss account details with you.”
Another pause.
“No, ma’am. Your name is not currently listed as trustee.”
Denise stopped moving outside.
Richard listened.
Then said one sentence.
“Perhaps you should explain that to the police.”
He hung up.
Denise stared through the glass.
At me.
Her expression no longer looked angry.
It looked desperate.
She raised one finger and pointed at my face.
Then she mouthed five words.
You have no idea, Evan.
A police cruiser pulled up behind her.
May you like
Denise spun around.
And ran.
