Chapter 3: The Account
We didn't go home.
We went straight to the bank.
Tasha drove because I was still too shaken to trust myself behind a wheel.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
The brand-new SUV sat in our driveway, waiting for the girl whose name had supposedly been used to buy it.
I wanted nothing to do with it.
Inside the bank, the air smelled like coffee and printer paper.
A woman behind the reception desk smiled.
“Can I help you?””
Tasha placed the notice on the counter.
“We need to speak with someone about a trust account.””
The woman's smile faded when she saw the paperwork.
“Do you have identification?””
Tasha handed over her driver's license.
I gave mine too.
The woman studied them.
“Are you both account holders?””
Tasha looked at me.
“I don't know.””
That sentence seemed to make the woman uncomfortable.
“Let me get a manager.””
Five minutes later, we sat in a small office with a glass wall.
A man named Daniel Harris introduced himself.
He was probably in his fifties, with silver hair and the kind of calm expression people wore when they had spent years delivering bad news professionally.
He looked at Tasha's documents.
Then at me.
Then back at Tasha.
“Before we discuss the account, I need to verify something.””
“What?”” Tasha asked.
“Your mother.””
Tasha went still.
“What about her?””
“Her full legal name?””
Tasha gave it.
Daniel typed.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he looked at me.
“And your mother?””
“Nia Johnson.””
He typed again.
The room became very quiet.
Finally, he leaned back.
“That's interesting.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
Daniel folded his hands.
“The account you're asking about wasn't created by your father.””
Tasha swallowed.
“Who created it?””
“Your mother.””
Tasha stared at him.
“My mom?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
Daniel checked the screen.
“Sixteen years ago.””
I looked at Tasha.
She was nineteen.
That meant the account had been opened when she was three.
Daniel continued.
“The original beneficiary was Tasha's mother.””
Tasha frowned.
“My mom was the beneficiary?””
“Initially.””
“And then?””
“After her death, the account was transferred into your name.””
Tasha's eyes filled with tears.
“How much was in it?””
Daniel hesitated.
“Before recent withdrawals?””
“Yes.””
He looked at the screen.
“Approximately one hundred forty-three thousand dollars.””
Tasha's mouth fell open.
I stared at him.
“That can't be right.””
“It is.””
“But Marcus said—”
Daniel interrupted gently.
“I can't discuss what your stepfather told you.””
“He's her father.””
“That doesn't automatically give him authority over the account.””
Tasha leaned forward.
“Then why could he withdraw money?””
Daniel's expression changed.
“That's exactly what concerns me.””
He turned his monitor slightly.
“There were multiple authorization changes over the years.””
“What kind?””
“First, your mother was listed as custodian.””
Tasha nodded.
“Then?””
“After your mother remarried, the custodian designation changed.””
“To Marcus?””
“No.””
Daniel paused.
“To Nia Johnson.””
My heart stopped.
My mother.
Tasha looked stunned.
“My stepmother controlled my trust?””
“Yes.””
“Then how did Dad get access?””
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he opened another file.
“There is a power-of-attorney document.””
“Whose?””
“Nia Johnson's.””
I felt sick.
My mother had given Marcus access.
Daniel continued.
“And there is something else.””
He printed a page.
He placed it on the desk.
It was a list of withdrawals.
Some were years old.
Others were recent.
I scanned them.
Tuition payment.
Medical bill.
Home renovation.
Credit card balance.
Car dealership.
Then I saw one description that made my blood run cold.
*PRIVATE EDUCATION EXPENSE — MAYA JOHNSON*
My name.
I looked at Daniel.
“What does that mean?””
He frowned.
“According to the records, several withdrawals from Tasha's trust were used for expenses related to you.””
Tasha looked at me.
I couldn't breathe.
“No.””
Daniel nodded slowly.
“I thought you should know.””
Tasha pushed the paper away.
“How much?””
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“Over the past twelve years?””
“Yes.””
He entered another figure.
Then turned the screen toward us.
*$86,417.32*
Tasha stared at it.
I couldn't look at her.
Every birthday.
Every phone.
Every vacation.
Every expensive pair of shoes.
Every time Mom had told me we were lucky.
Every time Tasha had been told there wasn't enough money.
I felt like I was sitting inside someone else's life.
“Tasha…”
She stood up.
“I need air.””
I followed her outside.
The afternoon sun was painfully bright.
She walked several steps before turning around.
“You didn't know.””
I shook my head.
“I swear.””
“I know.””
“But I should have.””
“You were a kid.””
“I still took things.””
“You didn't know where they came from.””
“That doesn't make it feel better.””
Tasha wiped her eyes.
“I used to wonder why Dad always said there wasn't enough money for me.””
She laughed bitterly.
“Meanwhile, apparently there was always enough money for you.””
I looked down.
“I'll give it back.””
She shook her head.
“You can't.””
“Then I'll work.””
“Maya—”
“I mean it.””
She grabbed my shoulders.
“This isn't your fault.””
I started crying.
“I don't want the car.””
“I know.””
“I don't want any of it.””
“I know.””
Behind us, the bank's glass doors opened.
Daniel stepped outside.
He was holding another document.
His face was serious.
“Girls.””
We turned.
He walked toward us.
“There is one more thing I didn't tell you.””
Tasha's expression tightened.
“What?””
Daniel lowered his voice.
“The bank received a request this morning to close the trust.””
My heart stopped.
“Who requested it?””
He looked at me.
Then at Tasha.
“Your mother.””
Tasha went completely still.
Daniel handed her the document.
“She requested that the remaining funds be transferred out by the end of the day.””
Tasha stared at the signature.
Then she whispered,
“That isn't my mother's signature.””
Daniel's face turned pale.
“No.””
He pointed to the bottom of the page.
“That's why I called you.””
I looked closer.
The signature wasn't Tasha's mother's.
It wasn't my mother's either.
It was mine.
Again.
May you like
And underneath it was a date that hadn't happened yet.
Tomorrow.
