Chapter 2: The Purple Supercar
I didn't sleep that night.
At 12:16 a.m., I called the bank.
At 12:29, I called the scholarship foundation again.
At 12:41, I sent another email explaining that I suspected an unauthorized attempt to access my award funds.
The bank representative told me that the external account connection and transfer request required further investigation.
She could not promise that the funds were secure until the bank and scholarship administrator completed their respective reviews.
I asked her to freeze any transfer involving the scholarship deposit.
She placed me on hold.
I sat on the floor beside my bed, listening to the faint electronic music playing through the phone.
Finally, she returned.
“Ms. Ellis, I've placed a security restriction on the account activity we can control. You'll need to complete an identity verification process when the bank opens.””
“Can you tell me if the transfer has gone through?””
“According to the information currently available, I cannot confirm a completed transfer.””
I closed my eyes.
“Thank you.””
I hung up.
Then I looked at the door.
Rhonda had access to the household mail.
She knew my birthday.
She knew my mother's maiden name.
She had helped my father organize some of the household paperwork when I was younger.
But I couldn't understand how she had obtained the information necessary to submit the request.
I checked my email.
The foundation had sent me another message.
It confirmed that the attempted payment change had been flagged for manual review.
The payment had not yet been released.
I wanted to believe that meant everything was fine.
But downstairs, Rhonda and Brianna were already celebrating.
At 8:15 the following morning, I heard Brianna shouting.
“Mom! The dealership called!””
I was still in my pajamas when I opened my bedroom door.
Brianna stood at the bottom of the stairs holding her phone.
Rhonda was beside her, wearing a cream-colored blouse and carrying a designer handbag.
“Tell them we're coming,” Rhonda said.
Brianna bounced excitedly.
“They have the purple one!””
Rhonda glanced upstairs.
Then she saw me.
Her expression changed for half a second.
“Good morning, Madison.””
I walked down the stairs.
“Where are you going?””
“Shopping,” Brianna answered.
“For what?””
She smiled.
“Something you wouldn't understand.””
I looked at Rhonda.
“Did you transfer my money?””
Her smile vanished.
“Don't start this again.””
“The bank sent me a notification last night.””
Brianna's eyes flickered toward her mother.
Rhonda quickly recovered.
“It's being handled.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means you should stop interfering in adult matters.””
I stared at her.
“You tried to transfer eighty-five thousand dollars into Brianna's account.””
Rhonda placed her handbag on the kitchen counter.
“Lower your voice.””
“Did you?””
“Your father and I make financial decisions for this household.””
“That's not an answer.””
She stepped closer.
“Your father has responsibilities. You have no idea what he owes, what he pays, or what it takes to maintain this home.””
“My scholarship isn't his money.””
Rhonda's lips tightened.
“Everything you have comes from him.””
“Not the scholarship.””
Brianna rolled her eyes.
“God, you're exhausting.””
I turned toward her.
“You're buying a car with money that isn't yours.””
She laughed.
“Prove it.””
I went silent.
Rhonda smiled.
“That's what I thought.””
She picked up her handbag.
“Come on, Brianna. We're leaving.””
I stepped in front of the door.
“I'm calling Dad.””
Rhonda stopped.
Then she looked at me with a cold expression.
“Your father is in meetings. Don't disturb him with another one of your little dramas.””
I moved aside.
But before she left, I heard her say something to Brianna.
“Don't worry. The dealership has already been told we're paying cash.””
The door closed.
I stood in the hallway.
For a few seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I grabbed my phone.
I called my father.
No answer.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
I sent him a message.
Dad, please call me. Rhonda is trying to take my scholarship money. I think she's using it to buy Brianna a car.
I waited.
Nothing.
At 9:03 a.m., I received a call from the scholarship foundation.
“Madison, this is Rachel from award administration. We need to discuss your account.””
I sat down.
“Did someone transfer the money?””
“No. The original award payment remains under review.””
I exhaled.
“Thank goodness.””
“However, we received a second request yesterday evening. This one included a signed authorization document.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What authorization document?””
“An account management authorization form bearing your name.””
“I didn't sign anything.””
Rachel paused.
“That's what we wanted to confirm.””
“Can you send me a copy?””
“We can provide the relevant document through our secure portal.””
I thanked her.
Then she said something else.
“Madison, there's one additional concern.””
“What?””
“The signature on the authorization form appears to have been submitted alongside a copy of a document from your family estate records.””
My stomach dropped.
“What family estate records?””
“I can't discuss the contents until we've completed identity verification. But the document appears to relate to a financial arrangement established several years ago.””
I stared at the wall.
Several years ago.
My mother had died seven years earlier.
“Was it signed by my mother?””
Rachel didn't answer immediately.
“Please complete the identity verification. I believe your father may need to be involved in reviewing the underlying documentation.””
I swallowed.
“Okay.””
When the call ended, I immediately checked my email.
Nothing had arrived yet.
I decided to go downstairs and wait.
At 10:20 a.m., Brianna sent a photograph to the family group chat.
It was a picture of a purple sports car inside a luxury dealership.
The paint was glossy and almost metallic, reflecting the overhead lights.
Brianna stood beside it wearing oversized sunglasses.
Her caption read:
Some people are born lucky. Others are born to win.
A second photograph followed.
This time, she was sitting behind the steering wheel.
Rhonda stood beside the driver's door, holding a champagne-colored gift bag.
I stared at the pictures.
Then I zoomed in.
A small white envelope sat on the dashboard.
The dealership's temporary purchase paperwork.
I could see part of the printed amount.
$84,700.
My chest tightened.
I took a screenshot.
Then another message appeared.
This time, Brianna had tagged me.
Thanks for helping make my dream come true, sis.
I felt sick.
I called her.
She answered after three rings.
“What?””
“Where did you get the money?””
She laughed.
“Why do you care?””
“Did Mom give the dealership money from my scholarship?””
“Don't call it your scholarship anymore.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means you should be grateful I got something beautiful out of all this.””
I gripped the phone.
“You know that's stealing, right?””
Brianna laughed again.
“Mom said the money was going to be in the family account. She said you agreed.””
“I never agreed.””
“Well, maybe you should have.””
“Brianna, listen to me. The foundation has flagged the transfer.””
Her laughter stopped.
“What?””
“The bank knows. The scholarship administrators know. They're investigating.””
There was a pause.
Then she said something that made my stomach turn.
“Mom said you wouldn't dare tell Dad.””
I went cold.
“Why?””
“Because she has the documents.””
“What documents?””
Brianna sighed.
“Ask your mother.””
The call ended.
I stood in the kitchen, staring at the screen.
Ask your mother.
My mother was dead.
I called Brianna back.
She rejected the call.
Then I heard a car engine outside.
I rushed to the front window.
A large delivery truck had stopped in front of the house.
Two men were unloading a collection of shopping bags.
Rhonda stepped out of the passenger seat of her SUV.
Brianna followed, carrying a small purple handbag.
She looked directly toward the window.
Then she waved.
I stepped back.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
Stop asking questions about the money.
Another message followed.
Your father doesn't know everything your mother left behind.
I stared at the screen.
My hands began to tremble.
I typed a reply.
Who is this?
The answer arrived almost immediately.
Someone who knows what Rhonda did before she married your father.
I read the sentence again.
Before she married my father.
Then a photograph appeared.
It showed a document on a wooden desk.
The image was slightly blurry, but I could make out several words.
Lisa Ellis.
Trust Agreement.
Madison Ellis.
And at the bottom, a signature.
My mother's signature.
I enlarged the photograph.
There was a handwritten note in the margin.
Not to be accessed by Rhonda Ellis under any circumstances.
I felt the room tilt.
Before I could type another message, the sender disappeared.
The number was no longer available.
I tried calling it.
Disconnected.
I looked toward the staircase.
Then toward the front door.
Rhonda was coming inside.
I quickly put my phone in my pocket.
She entered carrying a large shopping bag.
“Madison?””
I turned.
“Yes?””
She placed the bag on the counter.
“Brianna got her car.””
“I saw.””
“Isn't it beautiful?””
I didn't answer.
Rhonda took a bottle of sparkling water from the refrigerator.
“You should try being happy for your sister.””
I stared at her.
“With what money?””
She twisted the bottle cap.
“Money is money.””
“Did you use my scholarship?””
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why are you obsessed with this?””
“Because it was mine.””
She took a sip.
“Your father and I will discuss it when he comes home.””
“Dad doesn't know?””
She laughed.
“Your father knows exactly what he needs to know.””
I felt my pulse racing.
“Then why are you afraid of him seeing the documents?””
The bottle stopped halfway to her mouth.
For the first time, Rhonda looked genuinely startled.
“What documents?””
I held her gaze.
“The ones from my mother's estate.””
Her face changed.
It happened quickly.
But I saw it.
Her fingers tightened around the plastic bottle.
“Who told you about those?””
I didn't answer.
She put the bottle down.
Then she walked toward me.
“Madison, listen carefully. You need to stop digging into things you don't understand.””
“Why?””
“Because some things are better left alone.””
“Like what?””
She leaned closer.
“Like the money your mother left behind.””
My heart seemed to stop.
I whispered, “What money?””
Rhonda stared at me.
Then she smiled.
A small, nervous smile.
“Go upstairs.””
“Tell me what money.””
“Now.””
I didn't move.
For several seconds, we stared at each other.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression immediately changed.
She answered.
“Hello?””
A man's voice came through loudly enough for me to hear.
“Mrs. Ellis, we have a problem with the payment.””
Rhonda turned away.
“What problem?””
“The dealership received a notification that the funds may be disputed. We need to verify the source before completing the transaction.””
Her face drained.
“That's impossible.””
“Ma'am, we also received a request to preserve the payment records.””
She gripped the phone.
“Who requested that?””
There was a pause.
Then the man answered.
“Your husband's attorney.””
Rhonda slowly turned toward me.
May you like
And for the first time since my mother died, I saw something in her eyes that I had never seen before.
Fear.
