Chapter 3: The Money Went Somewhere Else
The following morning, Dad drove me to the bank.
Denise stayed home.
Kaylee claimed she had a headache and refused to come downstairs.
Neither explanation convinced me.
I sat in the passenger seat holding a folder containing the dealership paperwork, my vehicle registration, and three years of payment records.
Dad drove with both hands on the steering wheel.
He hadn't spoken much since the previous evening.
Finally, he said, "I should have noticed.""
I looked at him.
"Noticed what?""
"That something wasn't right.""
"You didn't sell my car.""
"But Denise used my account.""
I looked out the window.
"She used your account because she knew she could.""
Dad's grip tightened.
"I gave her access to certain household payments. Utilities. Insurance.
Groceries. Not nearly a hundred thousand dollars.""
"Did you ever let her use your phone?""
He shook his head.
"Not for banking. Why?""
I remembered the dealership document.
The digital authorization.
The unfamiliar phone number.
"Because the bank said something about a recognized device.""
Dad glanced at me.
"How do you know that?""
"You said the payment notification came from your saved account. We need to find out how it was approved.""
At the bank, a fraud specialist named Rachel met us in a private office.
She reviewed Dad's identification and opened the transaction records.
"Mr. Brooks, I can see the payment to Prestige Luxury Motors," she said.
"The authorization was completed through a digital wallet linked to your account.""
Dad leaned forward.
"Was it my phone?""
Rachel studied the screen.
"The device identifier doesn't match your current phone.""
"Then how was it recognized?""
"It had previously been trusted on your account.""
Dad frowned.
"Which device?""
Rachel hesitated.
"I'll need to verify the device registration history before I can disclose the associated information.""
She typed for several seconds.
Then she turned the monitor slightly.
The device had been registered almost two years earlier.
Dad stared at the screen.
"That's impossible.""
"Do you recognize it?"" Rachel asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered, "That's Denise's old phone.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Why was her phone connected to your digital wallet?""
Dad looked at me.
"She used to help me set up payments when I changed phones. I must have approved it without thinking.""
Rachel continued.
"The account appears to have been accessed using that previously recognized device. We can freeze the digital wallet and flag the transaction for investigation.""
"Do it," Dad said.
Rachel nodded.
She asked whether he had authorized Denise to make purchases on his behalf.
"No.""
"Did you authorize her to transfer funds to a private lender?""
"No.""
"Did you authorize the vehicle purchase?""
"No.""
Rachel documented each answer.
Then she asked us to wait while she checked the recipient information connected to the original transfer.
I watched her expression change.
"Is something wrong?"" I asked.
Rachel folded her hands.
"The payment from the vehicle sale was routed to a private lending company called Westbridge Capital Recovery.""
Dad frowned.
"I've never heard of them.""
Rachel brought up the transaction details.
The recipient account had received the money from my Honda and then made several additional transfers.
One transfer had occurred the same day.
Another had been processed three weeks earlier.
Dad leaned closer.
"Three weeks ago?""
Rachel nodded.
"Yes. There's a prior transaction history associated with the same recipient.""
"How much?""
She checked the records.
"$18,400.""
Dad went pale.
"That didn't come from me.""
Rachel pointed to the transaction description.
"The earlier payment was funded from a different account. Your current account was not the source.""
I swallowed.
"Can you tell us who sent it?""
"Not without the appropriate investigation process.""
Dad leaned back.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the wall.
Then his phone rang.
Denise.
He declined the call.
It rang again.
He declined it again.
A text appeared.
*Denise:* We need to talk before you make things worse.
Dad showed me the message.
I felt anger rising in my chest.
"She still thinks she's in control.""
He typed a response.
*Marcus:* Tell me what Westbridge Capital Recovery is.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, a message arrived.
*Denise:* I told you I was handling it. Please don't involve outsiders.
Dad read it twice.
"She knew we would find the lender.""
Rachel returned with another document.
"I found something else that may be relevant.""
She placed a printed transaction summary on the desk.
The original transfer from my Honda had gone into an account registered to Westbridge Capital Recovery.
But the beneficiary name wasn't the company itself.
It was an individual.
*D. L. Mercer.*
Dad frowned.
"Who is that?""
Rachel couldn't provide further personal details, but she explained that the transaction reference showed the recipient had previously received payments from another account connected to the same digital wallet network.
Dad looked confused.
Then he remembered something.
"Denise once asked me to help her pay a bill for a family friend. She said the person had gotten into trouble with a business loan.""
I stared at him.
"Who?""
"I don't remember the name.""
Rachel printed a copy of the transaction reference and advised Dad to file a formal fraud report.
Before we left, Dad froze the digital wallet, changed his banking credentials, and requested an investigation into the unauthorized payment.
Outside the bank, he stopped beside the car.
"Nia, I need you to understand something.""
"What?""
"If Denise used my account to pay somebody else's debt, then this isn't just about your Honda.""
"I know.""
"And if that person was threatening her...""
He didn't finish.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I opened the message.
There was no greeting.
No explanation.
Just a photograph.
It showed my silver Honda Accord parked outside a small brick building.
The picture appeared to have been taken several days before Denise sold it.
Underneath was a message:
*You should ask your father what happened to the money he borrowed before you were born.*
I read it once.
Then again.
My hands began to shake.
Dad noticed my expression.
"What is it?""
I handed him the phone.
He stared at the photograph.
Then he read the message.
All the color drained from his face.
"Who sent this?"" he whispered.
"I don't know.""
He zoomed in on the picture.
Behind my Honda, barely visible through a window, was a sign bearing the name of a company.
Westbridge Capital Recovery.
Dad slowly lowered the phone.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then he said something I had never heard him say before.
"Your mother told me that debt was gone.""
I turned toward him.
"My mother?""
Dad looked at me, his eyes suddenly filled with something that resembled regret.
"Before she died, your mother made me promise I would never let anyone collect that money from you.""
My mouth went dry.
"Collect what money?""
He looked back at the photograph.
And then he whispered:
"Because, Nia, the original loan was never mine.""
His phone rang.
This time, the caller ID displayed a name.
*DENISE BROOKS.*
Dad answered.
May you like
A man's voice came through the speaker instead.
"Mr. Brooks, I think it's time we discussed the money your wife left behind.""
