Chapter 7 - MY MOTHER HAD KEPT MY PASSPORT
Mom started crying before I asked.
“I found it.”
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“Where?”
“Your old room.”
“You told me you never saw it.”
She covered her mouth.
“I know.”
“Why keep it?”
“Your father said he needed identification for some family paperwork.”
I stared at her.
“And that sounded normal?”
“No.”
At least she stopped pretending.
Dad stood.
“This conversation is over.”
Chloe turned on him.
“No.”
He froze.
My younger sister had spent her entire life calling Dad whenever something broke.
Now she looked at him like she finally understood he was often the person breaking it.
“You used my trust.”
Dad said nothing.
“You lied about Jessi owning her apartment.”
Still nothing.
“You helped Flynn apply for money against her home.”
“I was trying to save your marriage.”
Chloe laughed.
“My marriage needed honesty, not her house.”
Dad looked toward me.
“Everyone keeps acting like I was stealing for myself.”
Rebecca slid the $74,000 transfer toward him.
“You took at least some for yourself.”
“It kept my company alive.”
“Exactly.”
He stopped.
Dad’s consulting business had been struggling for years.
I thought he was semi-retired by choice.
In reality, he had almost no consistent income.
My parents’ lifestyle had been financed by savings, trust withdrawals, and debt.
Mom admitted their home had a second mortgage.
Then a line of credit.
Then tax debt.
“How much?” I asked.
Dad refused.
Mom answered.
“Almost four hundred thousand.”
Chloe sat down hard.
Their home was worth maybe seven hundred thousand.
The family image I had spent years comparing myself to was built on borrowed money.
Then Mom said something worse.
“The house is being sold.”
Dad turned toward her.
“Margaret.”
She ignored him.
“When?”
“End of next month.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because your father wanted everything arranged first.”
Arranged.
That word again.
Where were my parents planning to live after selling?
Mom looked at Chloe.
Chloe looked confused.
Then at me.
I understood before anyone spoke.
Dad had promised my apartment to Chloe so Chloe could give up her current rental.
And once my parents sold their house, they intended to move into Chloe’s rental under a cheaper long-term lease her landlord had offered.
A chain of housing decisions.
All depending on me surrendering the home I had spent seven years buying.
Nobody had bothered to include me.
Then Rebecca’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Looked at me.
“The lender has located the notary attached to the forged equity application.”
“Who?”
She glanced toward Dad.
May you like
“Your father’s business attorney.”
And apparently he was ready to talk.
