Chapter 4: The Letters With My Name on Them
“Ask Emily why she never told you about the letters from the bank.””
Nicole delivered the words with such confidence that, for a moment, I wondered whether I had forgotten something.
I stared at her across the living room.
“What letters?””
She gave me a small, pitying smile.
“Oh, Emily. Don't do this.””
“Do what?””
“Pretend you don't know.””
Dad stepped between us.
“Nicole, stop speaking in riddles. What letters are you talking about?””
She crossed her arms and leaned against the dining table, where the shopping bags still sat unopened.
“Three months ago, I found several bank statements addressed to Emily. They were hidden in her bedroom. When I asked her about them, she became hysterical.””
My heart began pounding.
“That never happened!””
“Of course you'd say that.””
“Dad, I've never received a bank statement in my life!””
Nicole sighed dramatically.
“Marcus, I didn't want to embarrass her. She's young. She makes mistakes. I thought we could handle this privately.””
Dad looked at me.
“Emily, do you have any bank accounts I don't know about?””
“No!””
My answer came so quickly that it startled even me.
“I have the savings account Grandma opened when I was little. That's it. You helped me set it up.””
Nicole lifted one finger.
“Exactly. And what happened to the money in that account?””
I turned toward her.
“What are you talking about?””
She looked at Dad.
“Perhaps you should check the balance.””
Dad's face changed.
He had deposited money into that account every birthday and Christmas since my mother died. It wasn't a fortune, but it was the one thing he had promised would belong entirely to me when I turned eighteen.
I had never withdrawn a single dollar.
“Marcus,” Nicole continued, “I discovered several withdrawals over the past year. When I asked Emily about them, she told me she'd used the money for school expenses.””
Dad stared at me.
“Emily?””
“I never took anything!””
Nicole spread her hands.
“Then explain the missing money.””
“I can't explain something I didn't do!””
My voice cracked.
Lily rose from the sofa.
“She's lying again.””
Nicole spun toward her.
“Lily, go to your room.””
“No.””
“Don't you dare take that tone with me.””
“You said the same thing about the money you took from Dad's desk!””
The room fell silent.
Dad slowly turned toward Nicole.
“What money from my desk?””
Nicole's composure slipped.
“She's confused.””
“I'm not confused!”” Lily shouted.
“I saw you put the envelopes in your purse!””
“That's enough!””
Nicole struck the table with her palm. One of the shopping bags tipped over, spilling a silk scarf and a box of expensive cosmetics onto the floor.
Lily flinched.
I moved beside her.
“Don't shout at her.””
Nicole laughed bitterly.
“Look at you. You think you're some kind of hero now because your little sister has decided to make up stories.””
Dad's voice hardened.
“Nicole, I want to see the statements.””
She hesitated.
“What?””
“The bank statements you supposedly found in Emily's room.””
Nicole looked toward the stairs.
“They're in the office.””
“Then get them.””
“Marcus, this is becoming absurd.””
“Get them.””
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Nicole snatched up her purse and marched toward the office.
Dad waited until the door shut behind her.
“Emily,” he said quietly, “I need you to tell me the truth. Have you ever used money from your savings account?””
I stared at him.
“No.””
“Not even once?””
“Not once.””
He rubbed his face.
“I want to believe you.””
The words hurt more than I expected.
“You want to believe me?””
His eyes flickered.
“I do believe you. I just need to understand what's happening.””
“Then check the account yourself.””
He nodded slowly.
“You're right.””
He pulled out his phone and opened his banking application.
A moment later, his expression changed.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
His thumb moved across the screen. He opened another page, then another.
Finally, he whispered, “That's impossible.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
He turned the phone toward me.
The account showed a balance far smaller than I remembered.
My mouth went dry.
“No.””
Dad tapped the transaction history.
There were withdrawals. Transfers. Payments I didn't recognize.
One transaction was for $1,200.
Another was for $850.
A third was labeled as an electronic transfer to an account ending in four digits I had never seen before.
“When did these happen?”” I asked.
Dad scrolled through the list.
“Over the last eleven months.””
I shook my head.
“I didn't do this.””
“I know.””
He said it immediately this time.
Then he stared at the screen.
“But somebody accessed the account.””
The office door opened.
Nicole returned holding a blue folder.
She placed it on the coffee table with a deliberate little thud.
“There,” she said.
“Everything you wanted.””
Dad opened it.
Inside were printed bank statements, photocopies of identification documents, and several letters bearing my name.
I leaned forward.
The first letter was dated nearly a year earlier.
It was addressed to me at our home.
I had never seen it.
The second was a warning about an overdue balance.
The third was a notice regarding an application for a credit account.
My name appeared at the top of every page.
But the signature at the bottom of the application wasn't mine.
It was close enough to fool someone who didn't know me.
The capital E was too rounded. The final stroke of my surname extended too far.
I looked at Dad.
“Someone copied my signature.””
Nicole folded her arms.
“Or you're lying about the application.””
Dad examined the document.
“This account was opened when Emily was sixteen.””
“Perhaps she's been more independent than you realized,” Nicole replied.
I felt sick.
“I was sixteen. I didn't even have a credit card.””
Dad picked up another page.
“This address is ours, but the email listed here isn't Emily's.””
He looked at Nicole.
“Whose email is this?””
She shrugged.
“How would I know?””
“It's your personal email address.””
Nicole's face went still.
I leaned over the document.
The address ended with the name Nicole had used before marrying Dad.
I looked at her.
“You used your email?””
She snatched the paper from his hand.
“That doesn't prove anything. I might have helped her fill out a form.””
“You told Dad you found these letters in my bedroom.””
“I did.””
“Then why were they never opened?””
Nicole stared at me.
Dad took the papers back.
Several envelopes had been slit open neatly along the top, as though someone had examined their contents before placing them in the folder.
He turned one over.
A faint purple smudge marked the back.
Lily leaned closer.
“That's Mom's stamp.””
Nicole's head snapped toward her.
“What stamp?””
“The purple one you use on your paperwork. The one with your initials.””
Dad examined the smudge.
Then he looked at Nicole's purse, which sat open beside the shopping bags.
A small purple ink stamp protruded from the side pocket.
For the first time, Nicole looked genuinely cornered.
But she recovered quickly.
“You're all determined to make me the villain,” she said.
“Fine. Investigate me. Check every account.
Search every drawer. But when you discover that Emily has been hiding things, don't expect me to apologize.””
She grabbed her purse.
Dad stood.
“Where are you going?””
“To get some air.””
“No. You're staying here until we understand why your email address is on a credit application in Emily's name.””
Nicole's eyes flashed.
“You cannot order me around like a criminal.””
“Then stop behaving like one.””
The words struck her harder than any accusation had.
She stared at Dad, her mouth trembling with fury.
Then she turned toward the staircase.
“Enjoy this little family meeting, Marcus. Just remember that when everything falls apart, it won't be because of me.””
She disappeared upstairs.
A moment later, her bedroom door slammed.
Dad sat heavily on the sofa, the blue folder open across his knees.
I stared at my stolen identity, my missing savings, and the signature that looked almost like mine.
Then I noticed something tucked into the back pocket of the folder.
A folded sheet of paper.
Unlike the bank statements, it had no logo, no official heading, and no signature.
Only a handwritten sentence.
Once Emily turns eighteen, the transfer will be complete.
My hands began to shake.
“Dad?””
He took the paper from me.
His eyes moved across the sentence.
Then he turned it over.
On the back, someone had written a date.
It was my eighteenth birthday.
May you like
And beneath it were three words that made my father rise so abruptly that the papers scattered across the floor.
*Guardianship transfer agreement.*
