Chapter 3
Vanessa refused to answer.
Dad called the bank.
The account was real.
The money had been deposited into a custodial account established by my mother before she died.
Life insurance.
Savings.
A small inheritance from my grandparents.
Everything Mom wanted me to have when I turned eighteen.
Except someone had been withdrawing from it.
Repeatedly.
Dad looked at the bank representative's email.
Twenty-three withdrawals.
Over six years.
The total was $96,400.
I stared at the number.
Almost one hundred thousand dollars.
Money meant for me.
Dad's face became hard.
“Who had authorization?”
The bank representative answered:
“Mrs. Bennett.”
Vanessa.
Dad closed his eyes.
For a moment, I thought he might scream.
Instead, he asked:
“Was my signature required?”
“Yes.”
Dad's eyes opened.
“I never signed anything.”
The bank representative went silent.
Dad asked for copies.
Five minutes later, they arrived.
Every withdrawal form carried two signatures.
Vanessa's.
And Dad's.
But Dad knew immediately.
“That isn't my signature.”
Vanessa started crying.
“I had to.”
Dad turned toward her.
“You forged my signature?”
“I needed money.”
“For what?”
“For the house.”
Dad stared.
“You used Nia's money to pay household expenses?”
“Not just household expenses.”
“What else?”
Vanessa said nothing.
Dad looked at me.
“Nia, go downstairs.”
I didn't move.
“Dad…”
“Please.”
I walked down.
But I didn't go far.
I sat halfway down the staircase.
I heard Vanessa crying upstairs.
“I didn't steal from her.”
Dad answered:
“You withdrew almost one hundred thousand dollars.”
“I was going to replace it.”
“When?”
“When things got better.”
“They got better for you.”
Silence.
Then Dad asked:
“Where did the rest go?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
Dad's voice changed.
“Where did the money go?”
She finally whispered:
“My children.”
Dad went silent.
“Caleb needed school.”
“Ava needed things.”
“And Nia didn't?”
“They're my children.”
“Nia is my daughter.”
Vanessa cried.
“I know.”
“No.”
Dad's voice cracked.
“You knew every time you bought Caleb new shoes.”
“You knew every time Ava got another dress.”
“You knew Nia wore shoes with holes.”
Vanessa said:
“She never complained.”
“That doesn't make it right.”
Then something fell.
A drawer.
Dad must have opened the dresser.
A moment later he asked:
“What's this?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
Dad found another folder.
Inside were receipts.
Private school.
Summer camps.
Designer clothing.
A new phone.
Dental work.
Vacation tickets.
Almost everything had been paid from Nia's account.
But one receipt made Dad stop.
A jewelry store.
$8,700.
“Why did you buy this?”
Silence.
“Vanessa.”
“It was a gift.”
“For who?”
No answer.
Dad looked at the receipt.
Then:
“Who is Daniel?”
I didn't know the name.
But Vanessa did.
Because she immediately started crying.
Dad found another document.
A hotel invoice.
Two nights.
Same date as the jewelry purchase.
Dad stared at it.
“You weren't with Caleb.”
“No.”
“You weren't with Ava.”
“No.”
“Who is Daniel?”
Vanessa whispered:
“He was helping me.”
“With what?”
“My divorce.”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“You were planning to divorce me?”
“I thought you didn't love me anymore.”
“So you stole Nia's money?”
“No!”
“Then why?”
“I needed somewhere to go.”
Dad went silent.
Then asked:
“Were you planning to take Nia?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
That answer was enough.
Dad came downstairs.
He sat beside me.
I had never seen him look so broken.
“Nia.”
“Yes?”
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“For what?”
“For not seeing.”
I looked at him.
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Your mother trusted me.”
I whispered:
“She told me you would protect me.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“She was right about one thing.”
“What?”
“I will.”
Then his phone rang.
The bank.
Dad answered.
His expression changed.
He listened.
Then slowly looked at me.
“There's another account.”
“What?”
“A second account was opened using Nia's Social Security number.”
He stood.
“It's active.”
“Who opened it?”
The bank employee gave him the name.
Dad's face went white.
“Vanessa.”
But Vanessa wasn't in the house anymore.
The back door was open.
Her car was gone.
And on the kitchen counter was a note.
Dad found it first.
He read it.
Then handed it to me.
Three words were written across the page.
Ask your father.
Underneath was an address.
May you like
An address I recognized.
It belonged to the cemetery where Mom was buried.
