Chapter 2: The Numbers Didn't Lie
Dad didn't go to work that morning.
He called his office from the kitchen, his voice calm enough to make the conversation sound ordinary.
"I have a family matter to handle," he told his supervisor.
"I'll be available by phone.""
Simone stood beside the refrigerator, tapping her fingernails against her phone case.
When Dad ended the call, she gave a short laugh.
"You're actually missing work over twenty dollars?""
Dad placed my notebook on the table.
"I'm missing work because my daughter is afraid to tell me what's happening in my own house.""
"Oh, please."" Simone pulled out a chair.
"She's nine. Children lose money. They exaggerate. They tell stories because they want attention.""
Dad didn't sit.
"She knew exactly how much she had.""
"Because she's obsessed with money!""
I flinched at the sudden sharpness of her voice.
Dad noticed.
He turned to me.
"Chloe, why don't you get dressed? We'll go buy your school supplies together.""
Simone threw her hands up.
"Unbelievable. You're rewarding her again.""
"No," Dad said.
"I'm taking care of my child.""
I hurried upstairs before Simone could say anything else.
At the top of the staircase, I paused.
I could hear them through the kitchen doorway.
"You are making me look like a criminal," Simone hissed.
"I'm asking you where her money went.""
"Maybe she spent it.""
"She didn't.""
"How do you know?""
"Because I believe my daughter.""
The words made me grip the railing.
I had spent four years wishing Dad would say something like that.
Not because I wanted Simone punished.
I just wanted him to believe me.
When I returned downstairs, Dad was waiting by the front door with his keys.
Simone had disappeared into the living room.
He opened the door for me.
"Ready, kiddo?""
I nodded.
Outside, the morning air smelled of wet leaves and exhaust from the school buses passing down our street.
Dad drove me to the office supply store near the shopping center. He let me choose a box of colored pencils with forty-eight shades, even though the twenty-four-color box was cheaper.
When I pointed out the price, he smiled sadly.
"Your teacher asked for colored pencils. She didn't say you had to settle for the ones with half the colors missing.""
I laughed.
It was a small laugh, but Dad looked at me as if he'd been waiting months to hear it.
We bought the ruler and notebook, too.
Before leaving the store, he handed me a fresh twenty-dollar bill.
I stared at it.
"What if it disappears?""
His expression changed.
"Then we'll figure out why. But you shouldn't have to be afraid to keep money your family gives you.""
I tucked it into my wallet.
On the drive home, Dad asked me to tell him everything I remembered.
I told him about the piggy bank.
The five dollars.
The birthday envelope.
I told him about the times Simone had asked how much money I had received from Grandma and Aunt Melissa.
I even told him about the afternoon I'd found her standing in my bedroom, opening my desk drawers while I was at school.
Dad's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"Did she tell you why she was in there?""
"She said she was looking for batteries.""
"Were the batteries in your desk?""
"No.""
He stared through the windshield.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
I looked down at my shoes.
"Because she said you were tired of hearing about Mommy.""
Dad pulled into a parking space outside our house and turned off the engine.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he leaned toward me.
"Chloe, listen carefully. I will never be tired of hearing about your mother. And you will never be in trouble for telling me the truth.""
My eyes filled with tears.
"Even if Simone gets mad?""
"Even then.""
I believed him.
I wanted to believe him.
But when we walked into the house, Simone was waiting in the living room with her arms folded and my birthday photograph lying face down on the coffee table.
"Did you have a nice little shopping trip?"" she asked.
Dad closed the front door.
"Simone, we need to talk.""
"Wonderful. Let's talk."" She picked up the photograph and held it by one corner.
"Let's talk about how this family has become a courtroom, with me on trial because a child can't keep track of her allowance.""
"Put the picture down," Dad said.
She dropped it onto the table.
"Why? Is that another sacred memory I'm not allowed to touch?""
I felt Dad stiffen beside me.
"Don't bring her mother into this.""
"Why not? She's already here every day, isn't she?"" Simone pointed toward the hallway, where one of Mom's old photographs remained in a frame Dad had refused to remove.
"You still act like your first wife is the only woman who ever mattered in this house.""
Dad's face went completely still.
"That has nothing to do with Chloe's money.""
"It has everything to do with it! You spend all your time trying to compensate for a dead woman, and now I'm the villain because I expect a little responsibility.""
I wanted to disappear.
Dad placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Chloe, go upstairs for a little while.""
I looked at him anxiously.
"Are you sure?""
"Yes, sweetheart.""
I climbed the stairs slowly.
At the landing, I heard Simone say, "If you keep treating me like this, I don't know how much longer I can stay married to you.""
Dad answered quietly.
"Then we'd better find out what's really happening before we decide anything.""
I closed my bedroom door.
For the first time, I wondered whether Simone might leave.
The thought should have frightened me.
Instead, it brought a strange, guilty feeling of relief.
That afternoon, I sat at my desk and added the twenty dollars Dad had given me to the notebook.
Then I wrote a new entry.
October 14 — Daddy gave me $20. Simone took it. Daddy saw.
I underlined the last two words.
At dinner, Simone served Dad a large piece of salmon and gave me a small portion of pasta.
She didn't look at me once.
Dad barely ate.
After dinner, he went into his office and closed the door.
A few minutes later, I heard the printer start.
I went downstairs to get water and found Simone standing outside his office, listening.
When she noticed me, she straightened.
"Does your father know you're wandering around the house instead of getting ready for bed?""
"I was getting water.""
"Then get it and go.""
I obeyed.
But as I passed the office, I saw papers spread across Dad's desk.
Bank statements.
Credit card bills.
A calculator.
And a yellow folder labeled *HOUSEHOLD EXPENSES*.
I had never seen Dad look at money so carefully.
The following morning, he made breakfast before leaving for work.
He packed my lunch, signed my reading log, and kissed the top of my head.
Then he handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a new allowance chart.
"From now on, we'll keep track of your money together," he said.
"Every dollar you receive goes in your own account. I'll help you set it up.""
I stared at him.
"My own account?""
"That's right.""
"Can Simone take it?""
"No. Not without permission.""
For the first time in months, I felt something inside me loosen.
After Dad left, I went upstairs to brush my teeth.
When I returned, Simone was sitting at the kitchen table with my new allowance chart in front of her.
She had drawn a thick red line through the weekly amount.
Beside it, she had written:
*NO ALLOWANCE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.*
I stood in the doorway.
"That's mine.""
Simone looked up.
"Not anymore.""
"But Daddy said—"
"Your father is easily manipulated. That doesn't mean you get to run this house.""
She folded the chart in half and slipped it into her purse.
"From now on, every dollar you receive comes through me. If you want something, you ask me first.""
I felt the familiar knot tightening in my stomach.
"But Daddy said I could have my own account.""
Simone rose from the chair.
"And I say you won't.""
She stepped closer until I could smell her perfume.
"Do you know what happens when a little girl turns her father against his wife?""
I shook my head.
"She loses everything she takes for granted.""
She walked away before I could answer.
That evening, Dad returned home with a folder tucked under his arm.
He went straight to the kitchen and asked Simone to sit down.
She glanced at the folder.
"What now?""
"I reviewed our accounts.""
Her face changed so quickly that I almost missed it.
"Why?""
"Because there are withdrawals I don't recognize.""
She gave a brittle laugh.
"You're accusing me of stealing from you now?""
"I'm asking you to explain the transactions.""
Dad opened the folder and spread several statements across the table.
I stood near the staircase, hidden behind the wall.
He pointed to a series of payments.
"These transfers began shortly after we married. Three hundred dollars here. Four hundred there. Then larger amounts.""
Simone folded her arms.
"I pay bills. That's what a wife does.""
"These aren't household bills.""
"They're personal expenses.""
"From our joint account?""
"Yes, Derek. Our account. Our money.""
Dad pulled out another page.
"Then explain why you've been withdrawing cash from the account every Friday.""
She stared at the paper.
For the first time, she had no immediate answer.
Dad waited.
Finally, she shrugged.
"I don't have to justify every purchase to you.""
"No," he said.
"But you do have to explain why money intended for our household is disappearing.""
Simone pushed her chair back.
"Maybe if you spent less time interrogating me and more time being a husband, you wouldn't have to worry about where the money goes.""
She walked out of the kitchen.
Dad didn't follow.
He gathered the statements and placed them back into the folder.
I stepped into the doorway.
"Daddy?""
He looked up.
"Hey, sweetheart. You should be in bed.""
"Are you mad at Simone?""
He rubbed his forehead.
"I'm trying to understand something.""
"Is she in trouble?""
He hesitated.
"I don't know yet.""
I climbed into the chair beside him.
"Is it because of my money?""
Dad turned toward me.
"Your money is part of the reason I started looking. But what I'm seeing goes much further back than your allowance.""
He opened the folder again.
One statement had a handwritten note beside a series of transfers.
*Recurring payments — unidentified recipient.*
I recognized the amounts.
Three hundred dollars.
Four hundred dollars.
Sometimes six hundred.
The same amounts Simone had said she needed for groceries, household supplies, and unexpected expenses.
Dad stared at the page for a long time.
Then he picked up his phone.
"Melissa?"" he said when his sister answered.
"I need a favor. Do you know anyone who can help me review some financial records?""
He listened.
"No, nothing like that. Not yet.""
Another pause.
Then his voice dropped.
"I think someone has been taking money from my daughter.""
He ended the call and sat in silence.
I watched him place the statement on top of my little notebook.
For the first time, the missing money wasn't just a mystery in my bedroom.
It was a problem Dad intended to solve.
May you like
But the next morning, he discovered something that made the stolen allowance seem almost insignificant.
And it began with a bank account neither of us had ever heard of.
