Chapter 2: The Transfers Nobody Was Supposed to Find
By seven that evening, I had stopped crying.
I had also stopped believing anything my father said.
I sat at the small desk in my bedroom, surrounded by old notebooks and university brochures. The rain had cleared, leaving the neighborhood smelling of wet grass and pavement. Downstairs, Mom was making dinner. Vanessa was laughing at something on television.
Their ordinary noises felt obscene.
My phone lay beside my laptop.
I had called the bank twice. The first representative told me that my account had been closed following a series of authorized transfers. The second refused to discuss the details because the account was linked to a family trust.
I had asked whether the transactions could be reversed.
The answer was no.
I had asked whether the bank could send me the authorization records.
The answer was that I needed to submit a formal request.
So I had done that.
Now I opened the folder where I kept every financial document I'd ever received. Tax forms from my summer jobs. Pay stubs.
Deposit confirmations. A small envelope containing the last birthday check my grandmother had sent me before she died.
At the bottom was a statement from the trust account.
I had printed it six months earlier, just to make sure my savings were growing as expected.
Back then, the balance had been $37,940.
I placed the old statement beside the new one.
The difference was more than money.
It was evidence.
At eight, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
Mom stepped inside carrying a mug of hot chocolate.
“Can I sit with you?””
I didn't answer, but I moved my laptop to make room.
She sat on the edge of my bed. Her eyes were red, and she had changed out of her work clothes into an old gray sweatshirt.
“I heard what happened this morning,” she said.
“Were you there when Dad gave Vanessa my money?””
Mom stared into the mug.
“I knew he was helping her.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
She swallowed.
“Yes.””
The word landed harder than I'd expected.
“How long?””
“I don't know exactly.””
“Mom.””
She looked up.
“A few months.””
I pushed back from the desk.
“A few months? You knew she was taking my money for months?””
“Your father said it was temporary. He told me Vanessa would repay it before you needed the funds.””
“Then why didn't anyone tell me?””
“Because we thought we could fix it.””
I looked at her helplessly.
“You didn't even ask me.””
“I know.””
“You watched me pick up extra shifts because I thought I needed more money for college. I stopped going out with my friends. I sold my old camera.””
Mom's lips trembled.
“I know, sweetheart.””
“No, you don't. You watched me do all of that while knowing the money was already gone.””
She put the mug down.
“I was wrong.””
For the first time all day, someone in the house had said the words I needed to hear.
It didn't make the betrayal hurt less.
“What was Vanessa paying for?”” I asked.
Mom hesitated.
“Her car. Some credit cards. She said she'd fallen behind after her hours were cut.””
“Her hours weren't cut. She got promoted last spring.””
Mom blinked.
“What?””
“She's been posting about it for months.””
My mother looked genuinely confused.
I opened my phone and showed her a photograph Vanessa had uploaded the previous week. She was standing outside a luxury hotel, holding a champagne glass, with the caption: Hard work finally paying off.
Mom stared at the screen.
Then she looked away.
“I didn't know about that.””
“Did you know about the bracelet?””
“No.””
I wanted to believe her.
But trust was no longer something I could hand out simply because someone was crying.
“Who is Andrew Price?”” I asked.
Mom went completely still.
The mug rattled softly against its saucer when she picked it up.
“Where did you hear that name?””
“Dad's phone.””
She set the mug down again.
“Your father has business contacts.””
“Andrew is a private investigator.””
Her face changed.
Not much. Just a slight tightening around her eyes.
Enough.
“Mom, what is going on?””
She stood up too quickly.
“I shouldn't be discussing this.””
“Why not?””
“Because it's your father's business.””
“My money is missing. A stranger is searching for a woman. Dad said everything would fall apart if Andrew found her. How is any of that not my business?””
Mom reached for the door.
“Please don't push him tonight.””
I stared at her.
“Why are you afraid of him?””
She turned around.
“I am not afraid of your father.””
“Then why won't you tell me the truth?””
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she whispered, “Because some truths don't just hurt the people who hear them. They hurt everyone connected to them.””
She left before I could ask what that meant.
I sat motionless until I heard her footsteps disappear down the stairs.
Then I did something I'd never done before.
I opened the shared family banking portal.
I wasn't trying to break into anything. Dad had given me access years earlier so I could monitor my savings. The portal still showed the trust's transaction history, even though my account balance had been reduced to almost nothing.
I downloaded the statements.
At first, the entries seemed ordinary.
Payments to Vanessa's credit card company. A transfer to a vehicle finance account. A withdrawal described as family assistance.
Then I noticed the dates.
Some transfers had occurred before Vanessa claimed she was in financial trouble.
One had been made eleven months earlier.
Another had been made two weeks before she bought her new car.
I scrolled farther.
My hands went cold.
There were transfers to an account I didn't recognize, each labeled with a four-digit reference number. Some were for $2,500. Others were for $7,000 or $9,000.
The total was far beyond the money missing from my college fund.
I opened a calculator and began adding them.
$7,000.
$4,500.
$9,200.
$3,000.
$8,750.
I checked the dates again, convinced I had made a mistake.
The transfers added up to $64,300.
And they weren't going to Vanessa.
Every payment went to the same recipient.
*A. Price Consulting.*
My bedroom suddenly felt too warm.
I searched the name online. The results showed a small investigative services firm registered in our state. Its website listed background checks, asset searches, and missing-person investigations among its services.
Andrew Price wasn't just someone Dad knew.
Dad had been paying him.
With money from the same family trust that was supposed to fund my education.
I took screenshots of every transaction and emailed the statements to myself.
Then I printed them.
The printer whirred in the corner, spitting out page after page of numbers that seemed to accuse my family in a language I could finally understand.
At the bottom of the last statement was a payment dated three days earlier.
$12,000.
The reference field contained a single word.
*LOCATE.*
I stared at it until the letters blurred.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
I closed the banking portal.
Dad stood in the doorway.
He was still wearing his work trousers and white shirt, but his tie was gone. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He looked tired.
Then he noticed the printed statements.
His expression hardened.
“What are those?””
I put my hand over the top page.
“Bank records.””
“Where did you get them?””
“From the family account you told me I didn't understand.””
He stepped into the room and shut the door.
“Sophie, I need you to listen to me very carefully.””
“Are these payments to Andrew Price?””
He glanced at the page.
That was enough.
“How much did you give him?””
“That's not what this is about.””
“Sixty-four thousand three hundred dollars. Is that right?””
His silence confirmed it.
I stood up.
“You took more than my college fund?””
“No.””
“The records say otherwise.””
“Those transfers came from a separate portion of the trust.””
“Then why are you hiding them?””
“Because you don't understand the circumstances.””
“Explain them to me!””
He pressed his palms against the desk.
“Andrew is conducting an investigation into a person I knew a long time ago.””
“Who?””
He looked at me.
For the first time, I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before.
Fear.
“Someone who should have stayed in the past,” he said.
I shook my head.
“You don't get to spend my future chasing your past.””
His face tightened.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Then tell me.””
He looked toward the hallway, as if checking whether anyone was listening.
Finally, he lowered his voice.
“If Andrew finds her, there are things that could come out about this family that you are not prepared to hear.””
I stared at him.
“Who is she, Dad?””
He opened his mouth.
A phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out and read the message.
His face went white.
I watched as he typed a reply with shaking fingers.
Then another message appeared.
He read it once.
Then he read it again.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He locked the screen.
“Nothing.””
“Show me.””
“No.””
“Dad—”
He moved toward the door.
I grabbed the statement from the desk and held it up.
“You owe me the truth.””
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
For a moment, I thought he might finally tell me everything.
Instead, he turned around and said, “If you care about this family, Sophie, you will forget what you saw tonight.””
Then he walked away.
I waited until his footsteps faded.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
The message contained no greeting, no explanation, only a photograph of a document lying on a desk.
Beneath it was a single sentence.
Your father doesn't know I have this copy.
I zoomed in on the photograph.
At the top was the letterhead of Andrew Price Consulting.
Below it was a list of names.
My father's name.
My mother's name.
Vanessa's name.
And a fourth name that had been blacked out with a thick black marker.
But the date beside that name was perfectly visible.
It was the date I was born.
A second message arrived before I could respond.
Ask Daniel why he paid me to find a woman who was officially declared dead twenty-one years ago.
I read it twice.
May you like
Then a third message appeared.
And ask him why her daughter has been living in your house all this time.
