Chapter 8 - MOM FINALLY OPENED DAD’S BANK STATEMENTS
Mom found the rest of the missing money on a Thursday.
She called me at work.
“Can you come to Ruth’s tonight?”
“What happened?”
“I found Paige.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The transfers.”
At Grandma’s house, Mom had a spreadsheet open on an old laptop.
She had spent days tracing Dad’s withdrawals.
Twenty-five thousand had gone into the hidden account.
But that account had existed much longer than we realized.
Dad had been moving smaller amounts into it for almost four years.
Five hundred.
Eight hundred.
Twelve hundred.
Sometimes cash.
Sometimes checks.
Total transferred:
Forty-three thousand six hundred dollars.
Grandma whistled softly.
“How much went to Paige?” I asked.
Mom turned the laptop.
Almost thirty-one thousand.
My stomach dropped.
“Does she know?”
“She received it.”
“That doesn’t mean she knew where it came from.”
Mom nodded.
“I’m trying to be fair.”
That mattered.
It would have been easy to convert Paige into a cartoon villain.
But life was messier.
She had lied.
She had manipulated.
She had encouraged her sons to believe my property belonged to them.
But Dad had spent years rewarding her whenever consequences approached.
He had trained her to see rescue as a resource.
Mom looked at me.
“There’s another payment.”
I followed her finger.
Six thousand four hundred dollars.
Paid three months earlier to a company called Redbird Capital Services.
“What is that?”
“I looked it up.”
Mom swallowed.
“Debt consolidation.”
“For Paige?”
“We think so.”
Just then Grandma's doorbell rang.
Aunt Marlene answered it.
Scott stood there.
Again without Paige.
“I need to talk to Ellen.”
Mom looked at him.
Scott sat down.
Then he placed his phone on the table.
“I spoke to Paige.”
“How bad?” I asked.
He gave me a tired smile.
“Depends which part.”
Paige had finally admitted that Dad had been giving her money.
But according to her, Dad repeatedly told her Mom knew.
“He said Ellen wanted to help but didn’t want Claire judging the amount.”
I stared at Mom.
Mom’s mouth fell open.
“I didn’t even know.”
Scott nodded.
“I believe you.”
He continued.
Paige also claimed Dad suggested the studio conversion after she said they could no longer qualify for another lease without a larger deposit.
“He told her,” Scott said, “that the studio was basically his because he invested in the property.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Dad’s fantasy had become Paige’s fact.
“Did she know about the forged signature?” Luke asked.
Scott hesitated.
“She says no.”
“Do you believe her?”
Another pause.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was honest.
Then Scott played a voicemail.
Dad’s voice filled Grandma’s living room.
Paige, don’t worry about Claire. Once the contractor gets far enough, she won’t make you leave. Nobody tears out plumbing after it’s installed. We just need momentum.
I felt physically ill.
Momentum.
He had deliberately planned to create a fait accompli on my property.
Start enough work that saying no became too expensive.
Dad continued.
And stop telling Scott every detail. He overthinks everything.
Scott ended the recording.
Mom looked like she had been slapped.
“When was that?”
“Three weeks before Easter.”
Mom stood.
She walked to the kitchen.
Grandma followed.
I stayed with Scott.
“What happens now?”
He stared at the floor.
“I asked Paige to come with me to counseling.”
“And?”
“She said the only person who needs counseling is your father.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I said both can be true.”
I almost smiled.
Scott looked toward me.
“I’m taking the boys to my brother’s place for a few days.”
“Paige agreed?”
“No.”
That worried me.
“I’m not trying to take them from her,” he said quickly. “I just think everybody needs space.”
Luke nodded.
“Probably wise.”
That weekend, something shifted.
Dad called me twelve times.
I did not answer.
Then he came to the house.
The old spare key no longer worked because Luke had changed every exterior lock.
I watched from the upstairs window as Dad inserted it once.
Twice.
Then stared at the key.
He knocked.
I didn’t answer.
He rang the bell.
Finally he shouted:
“Claire! Open the door!”
Lily heard him.
She appeared in the hallway.
“Is Grandpa mad?”
I crouched.
“He’s frustrated.”
“Is he coming inside?”
“No.”
That answer mattered.
Not I don’t think so.
Not probably not.
No.
He was not coming inside unless I allowed it.
Dad remained on the porch for ten minutes.
Then he left an envelope by the door.
Inside was a check.
Six thousand dollars.
Memo:
CONTRACTOR EXPENSE.
No apology.
No note.
Just money.
For a few seconds I almost laughed.
Dad still thought every problem had a number.
I handed the check to Rachel.
She advised me not to deposit it yet.
On Monday, the county scheduled Dad’s administrative hearing.
And Paige received a letter of her own.
Because her phone number was listed as the permit contact, the review officer wanted to know what role she had played in the application.
When she called Mom crying, Mom did something she had never done before.
She did not fix it.
She said:
May you like
“You should answer truthfully.”
Then she hung up.
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