Chapter 3 - The Money I Never Spent
The missing money totaled $18,740.
I stared at the number on my laptop until it stopped looking real.
Dad sat across from me.
“Again,” he said gently. “Do you recognize these transfers?”
“No.”
There were eight of them.
Some small.
Some large.
All sent over five months.
I clicked the first transaction.
The destination was an account I didn’t recognize.
The second went to the same place.
So did the third.
My stomach tightened.
“Daniel.”
Dad didn’t react.
“What about him?”
“He must know.”
“Call him.”
Daniel answered on the second ring.
“Elena, thank God.”
“Did you transfer eighteen thousand dollars out of our account?”
Silence.
My heart sank.
“Daniel?”
“It’s complicated.”
Dad leaned back.
I closed my eyes.
“Where did it go?”
“Mom needed help.”
“With what?”
“She said she was covering expenses for us.”
I almost laughed.
“She took almost nineteen thousand dollars?”
“It wasn’t all at once.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize it?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
I felt physically cold.
“You let your mother take my money?”
“Our money.”
“My freelance income made up almost all of that account after you lost your job.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“She said we owed them.”
“For what?”
“Living there.”
My voice shook.
“They told us we could stay for free.”
“I know.”
“Daniel, answer me. Why did you let her take it?”
He exhaled.
“Because she said if I didn’t, we’d have to leave.”
I stared at Dad.
His expression didn’t change.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
“At the house.”
“Put your mother on.”
“Elena—”
“Put her on.”
Patricia came to the phone.
Her voice was cool.
“I assume Robert has encouraged this little investigation.”
“Did you take $18,740 from our account?”
“I collected household expenses.”
“You never told me.”
“I told Daniel.”
“That money was for Lucas and our apartment deposit.”
“You’re married. Daniel doesn’t require your permission to use marital funds.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“You took my car yesterday.”
“The car is Daniel’s.”
“And now I discover you’ve been taking our savings.”
“You lived in my home.”
“You invited us.”
“Nothing is free, Elena.”
Dad held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
“Mrs. Brooks,” he said.
Patricia’s tone changed immediately.
“Robert.”
“I’d like all records associated with those transfers preserved.”
She laughed.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
Dad’s voice remained almost conversational.
“I’m telling you what Elena’s attorney will request.”
Patricia stopped laughing.
“Attorney?”
“Correct.”
“This is a family disagreement.”
“Then keeping accurate records shouldn’t be difficult.”
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
“Attorney?”
“You need one.”
“I can’t afford—”
“You can.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Good. Because you have your own.”
I frowned.
Dad turned the laptop toward himself.
“Elena, there’s something else we need to discuss.”
“What?”
“Your grandmother’s trust.”
I stared at him.
“What trust?”
He stopped.
“You don’t know?”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Dad closed the laptop.
“My mother established trusts for you and your brother before she died.”
I remembered Grandma Evelyn vaguely.
She had died when I was sixteen.
“She left me money?”
“Not immediately accessible money. Property interests and investments.”
“How much?”
“That isn’t the important question.”
“It feels important.”
Dad hesitated.
“The trust includes a minority interest in several commercial properties.”
I blinked.
“What does that mean?”
“One of them is the property Daniel’s parents currently live in.”
I laughed because the statement was too absurd to process.
“What?”
“The Brooks estate sits on land owned through Hayes Family Holdings.”
My mouth went dry.
“Dad.”
“Your grandmother purchased the underlying property decades ago as part of a development portfolio. The residence itself was later sold under a long-term land arrangement.”
I stared at him.
“Are you saying I own their house?”
“No.”
He was precise.
“You hold an interest in the entity controlling the land and certain associated property rights. That is not the same as personally owning their residence.”
That distinction mattered.
But emotionally, it barely registered.
Patricia had spent six months telling me I was fortunate she allowed me under her roof.
And she had no idea that part of the legal structure beneath that roof belonged to my family.
“Does Daniel know?”
“No.”
“Patricia?”
“I doubt it.”
I stood too quickly and pain shot through my ankle.
Dad steadied me.
“This is insane.”
“It’s paperwork.”
“You always say that when something is terrifying.”
He smiled faintly.
Then the doorbell rang.
Dad looked toward the entrance.
He wasn’t expecting anyone.
Neither was I.
He opened the door.
Daniel stood outside.
His eyes were red.
He looked as though he hadn’t slept.
“I need to talk to Elena.”
Dad stepped aside.
Daniel entered.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he placed my SUV keys on the table.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at them.
“Did your mother send you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He swallowed.
“Because I found something.”
He pulled a folder from beneath his jacket.
Dad’s attention sharpened.
“What?”
Daniel looked at me.
“My mother wasn’t taking that money for household expenses.”
My stomach dropped.
“What was she doing?”
Daniel opened the folder.
Inside were copies of bank records.
“She’s been hiding something from my father.”
He pushed the first page toward me.
At the bottom was a transfer much larger than anything taken from my account.
$112,000.
Then another.
$86,000.
Then another.
Dad slowly sat down.
Daniel’s voice cracked.
“She’s been moving money for almost two years.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad studied the records.
Then he pointed to an account number.
“I might.”
Daniel stared at him.
“How?”
Dad lifted his eyes.
“Because I’ve seen that entity name before.”
The room became silent.
“Where?” I asked.
Dad closed the folder.
“On documents connected to the property where your parents live.”
May you like
And suddenly, the stolen car keys seemed like the smallest secret in the Brooks house.
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