Chapter 4: The Man Who Approved the Fraud
“According to our records, that agreement was approved by you, Mr. Williams.””
The dealership representative's words seemed to drain every bit of warmth from the kitchen.
Dad gripped the phone.
“That is impossible. I never signed an agreement involving my daughter's college account.””
“I understand your concern, sir. I'm looking at a document bearing your signature and a copy of your identification.””
“My identification?””
“Yes, sir. A driver's license was attached to the application.””
Dad glanced toward the laptop. The scanned document bearing his signature remained open on the screen.
“Mr. Foster, I need you to tell me exactly what you have.””
“There's a vehicle purchase agreement, a funding authorization, and a separate document authorizing the use of funds from an education savings account. The documents were submitted together.””
“By whom?””
There was a pause.
“The application lists Denise Williams as the submitting party.””
Dad closed his eyes.
I watched his free hand curl into a fist.
“Did you personally speak with me?”” he asked.
“No, sir.””
“Did you verify the signature?””
“Our processing department reviewed the documentation provided. However, because you've raised a concern about possible forgery, we can flag the transaction for investigation.””
“Flag it immediately. Do not transfer ownership. Do not release any further funds. And preserve every document, email, and recording associated with this purchase.””
“Of course, sir.””
“One more question. Who is listed as the witness on the second agreement?””
The representative typed something.
“I'm seeing a name here. A Mr. Richard Cole.””
Dad went completely still.
I had never seen that expression on his face before.
Not anger.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“Richard Cole?”” he repeated.
“Yes, sir.””
Dad ended the call only after confirming that the dealership would freeze the disputed paperwork pending review.
Then he lowered the phone.
“Dad?”” I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
“Who is Richard Cole?””
Dad looked at me, and for the first time that evening, he seemed uncertain about what to say.
“Richard has been my accountant for almost twelve years.””
I stared at him.
“The man who handles your taxes?””
“And my business finances. He helped me set up your education account when you were five.””
I glanced at the laptop.
“So he knew about the money.””
“He knew everything about that account.””
Jordan shifted in his chair.
“Maybe he made a mistake.””
Dad turned toward him.
“Your mother submitted a document with my signature. The dealership says Richard witnessed it. That is not something we dismiss as a mistake.””
“But Richard is your friend.””
“That's precisely why I need to know what happened.””
Dad picked up the printed statement and began gathering the other documents.
I watched him arrange the papers into a folder.
The movements were slow and deliberate, as if keeping everything organized was the only thing preventing his entire world from falling apart.
“What are you going to do?”” I asked.
“First, I'm going to protect your college account. Then I'm going to find out whether Richard had anything to do with this.””
“And Denise?””
His mouth tightened.
“She's going to have to answer for what she did.””
The following morning, Dad drove me to the bank before heading to his construction site.
The white sedan remained in our driveway, its red bow drooping slightly after a night of wind and rain. I had barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the signature on that document.
My father's name.
Written by someone else's hand.
At the bank, Dad requested a meeting with a manager. We sat in a small office with frosted glass walls while a woman named Ms. Patel reviewed the account history.
She turned her monitor toward Dad.
“Your daughter's education account was established when she was five,” she explained.
“It has been funded through regular deposits and several larger contributions.””
Dad nodded.
“I know. I made most of those deposits myself.””
“The account currently shows the three transfers you identified, totaling seventeen thousand eight hundred dollars. There's also a pending transfer request for six thousand five hundred dollars.””
I leaned forward.
“Can you stop it?””
Ms. Patel nodded.
“We've placed a temporary hold on the pending transaction while we investigate the disputed authorization. We can also review the account's access history and discuss additional security measures.””
Dad exhaled slowly.
“Please do that.””
Ms. Patel typed for several minutes.
Then she frowned.
“Mr. Williams, there's something else.””
Dad leaned toward the screen.
“What?””
“The access records show that the credentials used to initiate the transfers were associated with a secondary user profile.””
“Whose profile?””
She paused.
“Denise Williams.””
Dad's face hardened.
“I gave Denise access to review balances. I never authorized her to withdraw money for personal expenses.””
“I understand. The distinction between viewing access and transaction authority is important here. We'll need to review the original authorization records to establish precisely what permissions were granted.””
“Can you tell whether she used a device belonging to her?””
“We can provide the relevant access logs through our investigation process.””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Please begin that process today.””
Ms. Patel printed several pages and placed them in a folder.
Before we left, she looked directly at me.
“Maya, I know this is a difficult situation. Your father has taken the right first step by reporting the transactions. We'll work with him to determine what happened.””
I nodded, unable to find the words to thank her.
Outside, the morning air felt unusually cold.
Dad unlocked his truck but didn't open the driver's door.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
I frowned.
“For what?””
“For letting this happen under my roof.””
“Dad, you didn't know.””
“I should have checked the account more often.””
I looked at the bank folder tucked beneath his arm.
“You were working to pay for my future.””
He stared across the parking lot.
“That's not an excuse for being careless with it.””
I took his hand.
“Then let's fix it.””
He looked at me for a long moment before nodding.
“That's what we're going to do.””
He drove me home, then continued to the construction site.
I thought I would spend the day recovering from everything that had happened.
Instead, at eleven thirty, the doorbell rang.
Richard Cole stood on our porch.
He was a tall man in his late fifties, with silver hair, polished shoes, and a navy suit that looked expensive enough to pay my college tuition by itself.
He had attended my tenth birthday party. He had brought Dad a bottle of wine every Christmas. He had once helped me calculate how much I needed to save for college.
He smiled when I opened the door.
“Hello, Maya. Is your father home?””
“No.””
His smile weakened.
“Do you know when he'll return?””
“Why?””
He glanced over my shoulder.
“It's a private financial matter.””
I remembered the dealership representative saying Richard's name.
“You witnessed a document with Dad's signature.””
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“I see Marcus has been discussing things with you.””
“He didn't have to. I saw the document myself.””
Richard adjusted his cuff.
“Then you should understand that financial documents can look confusing when removed from their proper context.””
“Did Dad sign it?””
Richard looked past me toward the driveway.
“Your father and I have worked together for many years. I would never do anything to harm him.””
“That wasn't my question.””
His jaw tightened.
For the first time, his polite expression cracked.
“Maya, you're seventeen. You don't understand the complexities of business arrangements.””
“I understand that someone took money meant for my education.””
He stared at me.
Then he reached into his briefcase and removed a business card.
“Give this to your father. Tell him I'd prefer to settle this privately.””
I didn't take it.
“Why?””
“Because public accusations can have consequences for everyone involved.””
The words sounded like a warning.
I stepped back from the doorway.
“Then you should be able to explain what you did.””
His eyes narrowed.
“Tell Marcus I'll call him.””
He walked down the steps, got into his black sedan, and drove away.
I closed the door with shaking hands.
For several seconds, I stood in the entryway, listening to the silence.
Then I noticed something on the porch.
A small white envelope had been slipped beneath the welcome mat.
My name was written across the front.
Maya.
I picked it up and opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
It was a photocopy of a bank transfer authorization, dated three weeks earlier.
At the bottom was a signature.
Richard Cole.
Beneath it, in handwriting I recognized immediately, was a short message.
Ask your father what Richard promised Denise in exchange for his silence.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I turned the page over.
There was another line.
And ask why the money was never supposed to be used for Jordan's business in the first place.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
*Maya, don't trust Richard. Your father isn't the only person he's been lying to.*
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Then another text arrived.
*If you want to know where the rest of your college money went, meet me tomorrow at 9 a.m. Bring no one.*
The sender hadn't included a name.
May you like
But the final message made my blood run cold.
*I have proof that Denise planned to take far more than eighteen thousand dollars.*
