Chapter 4: The Second Account
“She owns that too.””
Brent's words hung in the hallway.
I stared at my bedroom door.
Then I heard Dad whisper, “Not so loud.””
“She's going to hear us,” Brent replied.
“She already knows about the first account.””
“And if she finds the second one, we're finished.””
My fingers tightened around the old bank statement.
Finished.
The word kept echoing in my head.
I opened my bedroom door.
Both of them froze.
Brent was halfway down the hallway.
Dad stood behind him, gripping the banister.
“What second account?””
Neither answered.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Who owns it?””
Dad's face had gone gray.
“Cassidy, go back to your room.””
“No.””
“Please.””
“You said I was too comfortable.””
My voice was quiet.
“So explain why you have been hiding my money from me.””
Brent looked at Dad.
Dad looked at the floor.
I walked downstairs.
Neither followed immediately.
I entered the kitchen and placed the old statement on the table.
“Start talking.””
Dad lowered himself into a chair.
Mom came in behind him.
She looked exhausted.
“What second account?”” she asked.
I looked at her.
“You know exactly which one.””
Her eyes flicked toward Brent.
That was enough.
I pulled out my phone.
“I heard him.””
Mom sat down.
“Cassidy…”
“No.””
I pointed at the chair across from me.
“You're going to tell me everything.””
Dad rubbed his hands together.
“The account was created when your grandfather died.””
“The first one was.””
“There were two.””
I stared at him.
“Why?””
“The first account held your inheritance.””
“And the second?””
Mom answered this time.
“It held income from the property.””
“What property?””
Dad swallowed.
“This property.””
I blinked.
“Rental income?””
He nodded.
My confusion turned into disbelief.
“This house has never been rented.””
“Not this house.””
Dad reached into a drawer and pulled out a worn folder.
He placed it on the table.
Inside was a property tax statement.
I read the address.
It took me a second.
Then I recognized it.
A small duplex on Willow Street.
My grandfather's old rental property.
My pulse jumped.
“He owned this.””
“He did.””
“So what happened to it?””
Dad looked at Mom.
“It became part of your inheritance.””
I stared at him.
“You told me Grandpa left me forty-two thousand dollars.””
“That was what we told you.””
“How much was the property worth?””
Dad didn't answer.
“How much?””
“About two hundred and thirty thousand.””
I almost dropped the papers.
“Two hundred and thirty thousand?””
Brent sat down slowly.
“That was years ago.””
“Years ago?””
“Yes.””
“You sold it?””
Mom nodded.
“When?””
“Six years after Grandpa died.””
“For how much?””
Dad said, “One hundred and eighty-five thousand.””
I looked at him.
“And my share?””
His eyes stayed on the table.
“What did you do with my share?””
“It went into investments.””
I laughed.
“Mine?””
“Yes.””
“Where?””
Dad's silence made my stomach turn.
“You're telling me my grandfather left me an inheritance worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I never saw it?””
“It wasn't hundreds of thousands,” Dad said quickly.
“Then how much was it?””
“It changed over time.””
“That's not an answer.””
Mom reached across the table.
“Cassidy, please calm down.””
I pulled my hand away.
“Don't tell me to calm down.””
I stood.
“You took money that belonged to me, put my name on a house without telling me, and now you're asking me to leave.””
“We didn't take it,” Mom said.
“Then where is it?””
Silence.
“Where is my money?””
Dad stared at me.
“In the second account.””
I froze.
“You still have it?””
Dad nodded.
“How much?””
He hesitated.
“Dad.””
“Approximately eighty-six thousand.””
The room went completely silent.
I heard the refrigerator humming.
A car passing outside.
The faint ticking of the clock above the stove.
Eighty-six thousand.
My grandfather's inheritance.
Still sitting in a bank account under my name.
Or at least, apparently.
I slowly sat down.
“Why didn't you ever tell me?””
Dad's voice cracked.
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
“That you'd take it.””
I stared at him.
“It was mine.””
“I know.””
“And you were afraid I'd take my own money?””
Dad didn't answer.
Brent looked uncomfortable.
I turned toward him.
“How much did you know?””
“Some.””
“How much is some?””
He sighed.
“I knew about the account.””
“Did you know it was mine?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know Dad had access to it?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know they were planning to refinance the house using my financial records?””
His eyes dropped.
“Yes.””
The betrayal hit differently coming from him.
Maybe because I had spent years making excuses for him.
Dad had been injured.
Mom had been overwhelmed.
Brent had lost jobs.
Brent had needed help.
There was always a reason.
But now there was no reason.
There was a plan.
“You knew,” I said.
Brent rubbed his forehead.
“I didn't know everything.””
“You knew enough.””
“I was trying to protect Dad.””
“From me?””
“No.””
“Then from whom?””
Brent didn't answer.
Dad did.
“The bank.””
I turned toward him.
“The bank doesn't care about me.””
“The bank cared that your name was on the deed.””
“Then why didn't you just tell me?””
“Because you would have stopped the refinance.””
“Yes.””
“That was the problem.””
I stared at him.
“So you deliberately kept me uninformed.””
Dad nodded once.
I stood again.
“You used my money to buy this house.””
“We used your inheritance.””
“You used my inheritance.””
“You were nineteen.””
“You don't get to rewrite that because I was young.””
“You were a child.””
“I was nineteen!””
My voice shook the windows.
Mom flinched.
Brent stood.
“Cassidy, just listen.””
“No.””
“You need to know what happened.””
“I've heard enough.””
“No, you haven't.””
He pulled the folder toward himself.
“There was another reason Dad put your name on the house.””
I stared at him.
“What reason?””
Brent looked at Dad.
Dad gave a small nod.
“Tell her.””
Brent opened the folder.
“Grandpa's will had a condition.””
“What condition?””
“He wanted your inheritance protected.””
“Protected from what?””
“From Mom and Dad.””
I looked at my mother.
She started crying.
“What?””
Brent continued.
“Grandpa didn't trust Dad with money.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“He had a temper.””
“That isn't what I mean.””
“Enough, Brent.””
“No.””
For the first time, my brother sounded angry.
“You've hidden this for twenty years. She deserves to know.””
Dad looked away.
Brent turned to me.
“Grandpa's will said your share couldn't be accessed by your parents once you turned twenty-one.””
I felt cold.
“So the money in the first account…”
“Wasn't supposed to be touched.””
“And the second account?””
“Was the rental income.””
“Who controlled it?””
“Dad.””
“Legally?””
Brent shook his head.
“No.””
I stared at my father.
“You weren't legally allowed to use my money.””
Dad's voice was barely audible.
“I thought I was doing what was best.””
“By taking it?””
“I borrowed against it.””
“For how long?””
He didn't answer.
“How long?””
“Years.””
My chest tightened.
“How much did you borrow?””
Mom covered her face.
Dad whispered, “Most of it.””
I looked at the account statement.
“Most of eighty-six thousand?””
“No.””
“Then how much?””
Dad took a shaky breath.
“There was more.””
I stopped breathing.
“How much?””
He reached into the folder.
His hand trembled as he pulled out another document.
A brokerage statement.
I took it.
The account balance was listed at the bottom.
*$312,847.56*
I stared at the number.
Then at Dad.
“This is mine.””
He nodded.
I looked at the date.
Three weeks old.
My hands started shaking.
“Why did you tell me there was only eighty-six thousand?””
“I didn't.””
“Then why did you say approximately eighty-six?””
“That was what was left in the checking account.””
“Where is the rest?””
Dad's face crumpled.
“It was moved.””
“To where?””
He didn't answer.
“Dad.””
“It was moved into the investment account.””
I looked down at the statement.
Three hundred twelve thousand dollars.
My grandfather's estate.
Rental income.
Investment gains.
Twenty years of growth.
And somehow, I had been working overtime, paying their bills, and believing I was barely getting by.
I looked at Mom.
“You knew?””
She nodded.
“How long?””
“Since the beginning.””
I swallowed.
“Did you know the house was also partly mine?””
“Yes.””
“And you still told me I had to move out.””
Mom began sobbing.
“It wasn't my decision.””
I turned to Dad.
“Whose decision was it?””
He looked toward Brent.
My heart sank.
“Brent?””
He stepped backward.
“I told them to do it.””
Silence.
He lifted his hands.
“I didn't know what else to do.””
“Why?””
“Because the bank was going to foreclose.””
“On this house?””
“Yes.””
“And the refinance?””
“Yes.””
“And me?””
His eyes filled with guilt.
“You were the only person they couldn't control once you knew the truth.””
I stared at him.
“That's why you wanted me out.””
He didn't deny it.
Dad lowered his head.
Then Brent's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His entire expression changed.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He didn't answer.
“Brent.””
He slowly turned the phone around.
It was a text from the attorney whose name appeared on the letter.
*THE BANK DISCOVERED THE ORIGINAL DEED. THEY'RE FREEZING THE REFINANCE.*
I read the next message.
*AND THEY'RE ASKING FOR CASSIDY'S SIGNATURE.*
I looked up.
“Why do they need my signature?””
Brent's face went white.
“Because without you, they can't legally finish the transfer.””
I stared at my family.
May you like
Then I asked the question nobody wanted to answer.
“What exactly are you trying to transfer?””
