Chapter 2 - The First Lie
Lauren set the bakery box on the counter as if Jared had asked why she was late for dinner.
“What money?” she said.
Jared held up the phone. “Don’t.”
She glanced at Oscar. “Your father and I have an arrangement.”
Oscar let out a dry laugh. “That’s interesting. I’d like to hear about it.”
Lauren’s posture stiffened.
Jared opened the transaction history. “Eight thousand on the first business day of every month. Three years. You told me it went to Dad.”
“It did.”
Oscar stood. The movement was slow, but his voice was sharp. “Then show me where.”
Lauren crossed her arms. “Oscar, maybe we shouldn’t do this while you’re upset.”
“I’m eating food from a church pantry in a coat I’ve owned for fourteen years. I’m not upset. I’m interested.”
Jared felt a familiar irritation rise in him, but this time it was aimed at himself. How many times had Lauren told him not to worry? How many times had he been too busy to come see the apartment himself?
He tapped the transaction.
The destination account displayed only the last four digits: 7742.
“Whose account is that?”
Lauren took off her gloves one finger at a time. “A management account.”
“For what?”
“Your father’s expenses.”
Oscar stepped closer. “Name one.”
“Rent. Medication. Utilities. Groceries.”
Oscar pointed toward a stack of unopened utility warnings on the counter. “My rent is twelve hundred. Medicare handles most of my prescriptions. I owe ComEd four hundred and nineteen dollars. Try again.”
Lauren’s eyes flicked toward the papers.
That tiny movement told Oscar more than her words did.
“You’ve never been inside this kitchen before,” he said.
Lauren’s jaw tightened.
Jared turned to her. “You told me you checked on him every week.”
“I called.”
“You said you brought groceries.”
“I arranged deliveries.”
Oscar lifted the church bag. “Unless Jesus started using DoorDash, those didn’t get here.”
Jared almost smiled, but anger swallowed it.
He pressed the bank’s customer-service button.
Lauren moved fast.
She reached for his phone.
Jared pulled it back.
“Why are you trying to stop me?”
“I’m trying to stop you from making a family issue into a legal disaster.”
Oscar went still.
That sentence mattered.
He had spent forty years listening for sentences that people wished they could take back.
“A legal disaster,” he repeated. “That’s an unusual phrase for grocery money.”
May you like
Lauren looked at him.
And for the first time, she looked afraid.
