Chapter 3: The Other Account
The voice on the phone was gone.
Dad had already ended the call and was dialing his bank's direct line before Monica took a single step.
"Sit down," he said.
He didn't look at her when he said it.
Monica didn't sit.
But she didn't leave either.
Kayla moved toward the hallway.
Dad's voice stopped her without him raising it at all.
"You too, Kayla."
I stood near the kitchen counter because I didn't know where else to put myself.
My hands were cold.
The room felt wrong, like the air pressure had shifted and nobody had explained why.
Dad had the bank on the line within two minutes.
I heard the hold music.
Then I heard the representative's voice, professional and careful.
"Yes, Mr.
Harlan.
I can confirm there is a secondary profile linked to your primary account.
It was created fourteen months ago.
Would you like me to read the authorization details?"
"Please," Dad said.
There was a pause.
Then: "The profile was created using your full legal name, your Social Security number, and a secondary email address registered under the name M.
Harlan."
Dad turned and looked at Monica slowly.
Her married name was Monica Harlan.
"How much has moved through it?" Dad asked.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"In the past fourteen months, sir, the total outgoing transfers from the secondary profile amount to two hundred and thirty-one thousand dollars."
I heard Kayla make a small sound behind me.
I didn't turn around.
Dad set the phone on the counter with the call still active.
He looked at Monica the way someone looks at a stranger who is standing inside their house.
"Two hundred and thirty-one thousand dollars," he said.
"Monica."
She lifted her chin.
"That money went to household expenses.
To this family.
You have no idea what it costs to run this house, Richard.
You hand me a card and you expect everything to just happen."
"Household expenses," he repeated.
"Yes."
"Then show me the receipts."
Her jaw tightened.
"I don't keep every receipt from—"
"Show me one," he said.
"Show me one receipt for anything over ten thousand dollars that I didn't already know about."
She was quiet.
I watched her, and for the first time in three years of living under the same roof, I saw Monica look small.
Not cornered-and-fighting small.
Just small.
Like something had gone out of her.
Kayla spoke from the hallway.
"Mom." Her voice had a warning in it.
Monica's eyes moved to her daughter.
Something passed between them.
I didn't know what it was, but I felt it.
"Richard," Monica said, and her tone had changed entirely.
Softer now.
Almost gentle.
"We've been married for four years.
Whatever you think you're seeing here — I am your wife.
You know me."
"I thought I did," Dad said.
He picked the phone back up.
"I need to freeze both profiles immediately," he told the representative.
"And I need a full transaction history for the secondary account going back fourteen months.
Every transfer.
Every payee.
Every date."
"Of course, sir.
I can have that sent to your registered email within the hour."
"Thank you."
He ended the call.
Monica watched him.
The softness was gone from her face now.
What replaced it was harder to read — not quite anger, not quite fear.
Something calculated.
"You're going to regret this," she said quietly.
It wasn't a threat exactly.
It was worse than a threat.
It sounded like a fact she already knew and was simply informing him of.
Dad didn't answer her.
He walked to his office and closed the door.
I stood in the kitchen alone with Monica and Kayla, and the silence between us was so thick I could hear the refrigerator humming on the other side of the room.
Then Kayla said, very quietly, "Mom.
The storage unit."
Monica turned to her daughter with a look that could have cut glass.
"Not now."
May you like
But it was already too late.
I had already heard it.
