Chapter 2 - The Missing Money
By midnight, we were sitting in a hotel room listening to rain strike the windows while my husband's entire family story came apart one document at a time.
The sheriff had left without arresting anyone.
There had been no evidence that I had stolen the SUV.
In fact, when the deputy checked the vehicle identification number, he found something much stranger.
The car had an active lien.
I stared at Ethan.
“What lien?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I don't know.”
Dad sat in the armchair near the window.
“You're going to start knowing.”
Ethan looked at him.
“I've been trying.”
“You've been hiding.”
Ethan flinched.
My father wasn't shouting.
That made every word land harder.
I had changed into sweatpants and a loose shirt. My ankle was wrapped in an elastic bandage the hotel staff had helped me arrange.
Noah was asleep in the portable crib beside the bed.
I looked at my husband.
“Did you take out a loan against the SUV?”
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you sign anything?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He looked down.
“Months ago.”
“What did you sign?”
“My mom said the bank needed updated authorization because the SUV was in my name.”
“And?”
“I signed a packet.”
“What packet?”
“I didn't read all of it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You signed legal documents without reading them?”
“I was desperate.”
“For what?”
“Rent.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“You told me you were paying rent from your savings.”
“I lied.”
The room went silent.
Dad stood.
“Camila, I need you to sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“I know.”
He looked at Ethan.
“Tell her everything.”
Ethan stared at Noah sleeping.
“I lost more money than I told you.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-two thousand.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“My severance. Savings. The last of my retirement account.”
“You had retirement money?”
“I withdrew it.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I was ashamed.”
Dad's voice was controlled.
“Where did the money go?”
Ethan didn't answer.
I felt sick.
“Ethan.”
He looked at me.
“Most of it went to Mom.”
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Why?”
“She said she was paying the household bills.”
“So she took twenty-two thousand dollars?”
“She said it was a loan.”
“Did you sign a loan agreement?”
“I thought I did.”
“Thought?”
He nodded.
My father's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
“Excuse me.”
He stepped into the hallway.
I could hear only fragments.
“Yes.”
“No, don't contact anyone through the family.”
“Correct.”
“Send everything to the attorney.”
He returned several minutes later.
He looked at me.
“Your account.”
“What about it?”
“You need to check it.”
I frowned.
“I checked it last week.”
“Check it again.”
My hands shook as I opened my banking app.
The balance was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
I refreshed.
Same number.
I looked at Ethan.
“There was money missing.”
“What?”
“How much?”
I scrolled.
The transactions were there.
Three transfers.
One for $1,850.
Another for $3,400.
And another for $5,000.
All sent to an account labeled HPS Management.
I stared at it.
“What's HPS?”
Ethan's face changed.
“I don't know.”
Dad stepped closer.
“Look at the dates.”
They had been made every month.
The transfers began seven months ago.
The month Ethan lost his job.
I turned to him.
“You had access to my account.”
“No.”
“You knew my password.”
“I knew it because we shared everything.”
“Not anymore.”
He looked devastated.
“I didn't make those transfers.”
I wanted to believe him.
I desperately wanted to.
Then my phone buzzed.
A banking alert.
A new scheduled transfer had just been created.
Five thousand dollars.
Tomorrow morning.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
Dad came over.
“Cancel it.”
I tried.
The app wouldn't let me.
A message appeared.
ACCOUNT ACCESS LOCKED. PLEASE CONTACT BANK.
My pulse raced.
“How can someone lock me out?”
Dad was already reaching for his phone.
“I have someone who can help you contact the bank properly.”
I shook my head.
“I don't need military help.”
He looked at me.
“This isn't military help.”
He paused.
“This is a daughter whose financial records may have been compromised.”
Ethan stood.
“I'll call the bank.”
“No,” I said.
He stopped.
“I'm sorry.”
“I don't know what you've done anymore.”
His face fell.
“I didn't do this.”
“But you knew your mother had paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“You signed things.”
“Yes.”
“You gave her access to money.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe we were struggling because you couldn't find another job.”
He looked down.
“I thought I could fix it.”
“You didn't.”
“I know.”
He sat on the edge of the second bed.
My father watched him.
Then he said something I wasn't expecting.
“Camila, I'm not going to tell you to leave your husband.”
I looked at him.
“You're not?”
“No.”
He glanced toward Noah.
“That decision has to be yours.”
Then he looked at Ethan.
“But understand something.”
Ethan met his eyes.
“If you continue hiding facts because you think the truth will destroy your marriage, you are helping destroy it.”
Ethan nodded.
“I know.”
Dad's phone rang again.
He answered.
“Yes.”
His expression shifted.
“What?”
He listened.
“How certain are you?”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
He hung up.
I stared at him.
“What?”
Dad handed me a printed screenshot that had been sent to his phone.
At the top was an account name:
Harrison Property Services LLC.
Under registered members were two names.
Diane Harrison.
And Ethan Harrison.
I looked at Ethan.
He went completely still.
“I've never heard of that company.”
Dad's voice was quiet.
“Then somebody created it using your identity.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
I looked at the document again.
There was one more name.
A registered agent.
My stomach turned.
It belonged to the accountant who had prepared Ethan's employment separation paperwork.
The same accountant Diane had recommended.
Then my phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn't a bank alert.
It was a voicemail notification.
The caller had left a message from Ethan's former employer.
I put it on speaker.
A man's voice filled the room.
“Ethan, it's David Mercer. We need to talk before somebody else decides what happened at the company.”
Ethan stood.
“David?”
The recording continued.
“I know what your mother told you. It wasn't the truth.”
My breath caught.
“Call me.”
The message ended.
Ethan looked at me.
“I didn't know.”
Dad took the phone from the table.
“Then tomorrow we find out.”
That night, I lay awake beside Noah.
Ethan slept in the other bed.
Neither of us spoke.
At 2:17 a.m., his phone lit up again.
One message.
This time there was a photo attached.
It was a picture of our bedroom.
Taken from inside our house.
May you like
Under it were four words.
You should have listened to her.
