Chapter 2: The Money Her Mother Left Behind
For several seconds, I couldn't make the numbers on the bank notice mean anything.
Forty-nine thousand eight hundred dollars.
The SUV behind us had a giant red bow on its hood, but now the bow looked less like a celebration and more like a warning.
Tasha folded the notice with trembling fingers.
“Where did you get this?”” I asked.
“It came in the mail yesterday.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
She gave me a look that made me feel ashamed for asking.
“Because I didn't understand it.””
I took the paper gently from her hands.
At the top was the name of a bank I recognized from the statements Marcus occasionally left on his desk. Beneath it was a trust account number, most of which had been hidden behind a series of asterisks.
The notice stated that a large withdrawal had been processed.
The balance remaining was listed as $1,263.47.
I read the line again.
Then I read the transaction date.
Eleven days earlier.
That was the same week Marcus had told Mom he was getting a good deal on a new car.
My stomach tightened.
“Tasha, did your mother leave you money?””
She nodded.
“A little.””
“How much?””
“I don't know.””
“You don't know?””
“I was eleven when she died, Maya. I knew she had insurance. Dad told me there was a trust, but he said most of it went toward medical bills and funeral expenses.””
Tasha looked down at her shoes.
“He said there might be a little left for college, but not enough to make a difference. He told me I should focus on working and saving instead of counting on money that wasn't there.””
I looked toward the house.
Marcus had moved the keys from his pocket to his hand. My mother stood beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
They were watching us.
“Did you ask him about the notice?”” I whispered.
“I did.””
“What did he say?””
“He told me it was a bank error.””
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
“Then why did he ask you for the envelope?””
Tasha didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
We both knew that whatever the paper contained, Marcus didn't want us reading it.
“Let's go inside,” I said.
She caught my sleeve.
“No.””
“Tasha—”
“I can't do this in front of them.””
“Then we'll go somewhere else.””
She looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted that came from years of trying to make a difficult person happy.
“Can we just walk for a while?””
I nodded.
We left the driveway and walked down the sidewalk toward the small park at the end of our street. Neither of us spoke until we reached a wooden bench beneath a broad oak tree.
The birthday music was still faintly audible from our house.
Some cheerful pop song drifted through the neighborhood, absurdly out of place.
I sat beside Tasha.
She held her hands between her knees.
“Your mom left you that money,” I said softly.
“She must have wanted you to have something when you grew up.””
Tasha swallowed.
“She wanted me to go to college.””
“How do you know?””
“Because she told me.””
For the first time since we'd left the driveway, Tasha looked directly at me.
“When I was little, Mom used to sit on the edge of my bed and tell me that I could become anything I wanted. She'd say that I shouldn't let anyone convince me I was asking for too much just because I was a girl.””
Her voice faltered.
“She made me promise I'd go to college if I had the chance.””
I remembered seeing a framed photograph of Tasha's mother in our hallway. She had dark hair, a wide smile, and the same eyes as Tasha.
Marcus rarely spoke about her.
Whenever Tasha mentioned her mother, he'd become quiet or change the subject.
I used to think he was grieving.
Now I wondered whether he was hiding something.
“Why did you believe him when he said the trust was empty?”” I asked.
“Because he was my dad.””
She gave a tiny, painful laugh.
“Who else was I supposed to believe?””
I had no answer.
A car passed on the road. Somewhere behind us, a child was shouting at a dog.
Tasha rubbed her eyes.
“I know what people think of me. They think I'm lazy because I work so much and still can't afford everything. They think I'm ungrateful when I ask Dad for help. But I really did try to save.””
She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened a banking app.
“I had almost two thousand dollars saved for my college deposit. Then my laptop broke, and I had to replace it. I asked Dad if he could help with the rest because the deadline was coming.””
“And he said no.””
“He said I needed to learn how the real world works.””
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Then he bought you a new car.””
I felt sick.
“I didn't know.””
“I know.””
She said it without anger, which somehow made it worse.
“You didn't know because nobody told you. That's how it works in our house. Everyone knows something, but nobody says it out loud.””
I thought about the countless times Mom had told me not to bother Tasha because she was busy. The evenings Tasha worked late. The weekends she spent cleaning while Marcus watched football and Mom planned my birthday parties.
I'd always thought Tasha was naturally quiet.
Maybe she'd simply learned that speaking up made things worse.
I took out my phone.
“I'm going to ask Mom what happened.””
Tasha grabbed my wrist.
“Please don't.””
“Why not?””
“Because if he's done something wrong, he'll find a way to make it our fault.””
I stared at her.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“It doesn't have to make sense to hurt.””
Her words settled between us.
I put my phone away.
“Okay. We won't confront them yet.””
She looked surprised.
“We won't?””
“Not until we know what's going on.””
For the first time that morning, Tasha's shoulders relaxed a little.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Mom appeared on the screen.
Come home immediately. Your stepfather is furious, and you owe him an apology.
Another message followed.
And bring Tasha's envelope.
I turned the screen toward her.
Tasha's face went pale again.
“He knows we have it.””
“He knows you have it,” I corrected.
“That's different.””
I started typing a reply, but Tasha shook her head.
“Don't answer her.””
“Why?””
“Because I need to show you something first.””
She opened her phone again and scrolled through a series of old photographs.
One showed a little girl with pigtails sitting on a man's shoulders. Another showed Tasha's mother holding a birthday cake. The last was a picture of Tasha at about twelve, standing in front of a brick building with a large sign above the entrance.
I leaned closer.
“What is this place?””
“My mom's bank.””
“Why would you have a picture of a bank?””
“Because she took me there the summer before she died.””
Tasha zoomed in on the photograph.
“My mom told me she had opened something for me. She said it was mine, but I was too young to understand it. She made me promise to ask for the documents when I turned eighteen.””
“Did you?””
“Yes.””
“What happened?””
Tasha's mouth tightened.
“Dad said he'd already handled everything. He told me the bank had closed the account and transferred the money to cover debts.””
“Did you see the paperwork?””
“No.””
“Did you sign anything?””
She hesitated.
Then she whispered, “I don't remember.””
I sat up straighter.
“What do you mean?””
“When Mom died, Dad gave me a stack of papers. He said they were insurance forms and estate documents. He pointed to places where I had to sign because I was her next of kin.””
“How old were you?””
“Eleven.””
My heart started pounding.
“You were a child.””
“I know that now.””
She looked at the bank notice again.
“I didn't even know what a trust was until I applied for college financial aid. When I asked Dad about it, he said I was wasting time chasing money that didn't exist.””
I stared at the transaction amount.
Forty-nine thousand eight hundred dollars.
It was too precise to be a coincidence.
“Do you think he took the money?”” I asked.
Tasha's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know.””
But her expression told me she had been asking herself that question for a long time.
A shadow fell across the bench.
We both looked up.
Marcus stood a few feet away, his car keys hanging from one hand.
He'd come without my mother.
His face was calm, but his breathing was heavier than usual, as if he'd hurried to catch up with us.
“Tasha,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Give me the bank notice.””
Tasha stood.
“No.””
His expression hardened.
“I am your father.””
“And it's my money.””
The words seemed to surprise him.
For a moment, he simply stared at her.
Then he gave a short, humorless laugh.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Then explain it.””
“Not here.””
“Why not?””
“Because this is a private family matter.””
Tasha held the notice against her chest.
“You bought Maya a car with money from my trust.””
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“That's a serious accusation.””
“Is it false?””
He looked at me.
“Maya, I expect you to stay out of this.””
I stepped beside Tasha.
“No.””
His eyes narrowed.
“You're making a mistake.””
“Maybe,” I said.
“But I think the mistake was buying a fifty-thousand-dollar car with money that belonged to your daughter.””
Marcus's face changed.
His calm expression disappeared, replaced by something sharp and furious.
“You have no idea what I've sacrificed for this family.””
Tasha flinched.
There it was.
The sentence he always used whenever anyone asked him to explain himself.
Sacrifice.
He'd worked hard. He'd paid bills. He'd kept a roof over our heads.
And because of that, he believed every question was an insult.
“I raised you,” he told Tasha.
“I fed you. I put clothes on your back. And now you're standing here accusing me of stealing from you?””
“I asked you for eight hundred dollars,” she whispered.
“You said you couldn't afford it.””
“I couldn't.””
“But you could afford this car?””
He took a step closer.
“Watch your tone.””
Tasha's eyes filled, but she didn't move.
“No. You watch yours.””
For a moment, I thought Marcus might grab the paper from her hand.
Instead, he pointed toward the street.
“You two are coming home. Now.””
I shook my head.
“Not until you explain the transaction.””
Marcus looked at me with open contempt.
“You think you're being brave because you have a little money and a big mouth? You depend on us for everything.””
“I know.””
“Then act like it.””
I could feel Tasha trembling beside me.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“If you bring this outside the family, you'll destroy everything I've worked for.””
I stared at him.
“You mean the car?””
His face turned red.
“No. I mean this family.””
For one brief moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then he reached for the bank notice again.
Tasha stepped backward.
“Don't touch me.””
His hand froze.
The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting.
Finally, Marcus straightened his jacket.
“Fine. Keep your little piece of paper.””
He turned away, then stopped.
Without looking back, he said, “But before you accuse me of taking anything, you might want to ask your mother what she signed eleven days ago.””
Then he walked toward the road.
Tasha and I stood frozen beneath the oak tree.
I looked at her.
“What does Mom have to do with your trust?””
Tasha shook her head slowly.
“I don't know.””
May you like
But when she said it, she was staring at the house.
And for the first time, I realized that the man we suspected of stealing her money might not have acted alone.
