Chapter 2 - The Account That Wasn't Empty
I stared at Ethan. "What money?"
He looked at me with a softness that made the answer more frightening. "The college account we started after the ultrasound."
We had deposited every wedding gift we'd saved, plus a small inheritance from my grandmother. I knew the balance down to the dollar. I also knew Ethan wouldn't mention it during an argument unless he had a reason.
"Don't drag me into some banking mix-up," Brooke said, standing so quickly the recliner rocked.
"Then sit and explain the transfer," Ethan replied.
Our niece's dog barked somewhere outside, absurdly cheerful. I held the back of a chair until the dizziness passed.
"You checked our account without telling me?" I asked him.
"The bank called yesterday about an attempted change to the mailing address. I was going to show you tonight."
Brooke went white. "That's insane. I don't even know your password."
"Nobody said you did."
I remembered the envelope she'd taken from our kitchen counter two weeks ago. She'd said it was a coupon. I remembered how she'd offered to 'help' set up online statements while I was sick in bed.
The doorbell rang.
Ethan opened it to reveal a woman in a charcoal blazer carrying a leather folder. I recognized her: Nora Ellis, the credit union's fraud investigator, whom Ethan had introduced at a neighborhood charity event.
"I can't discuss private records without Mara's consent," Nora said immediately.
"You have it," I answered, though my throat felt dry.
Nora put a printed transaction authorization on the coffee table. It showed an attempted withdrawal from our savings account. The signature looked like mine, but the final letter curved the wrong way.
Brooke stared at it. "Anybody could copy a signature."
Nora didn't promise an easy resolution. She explained that fraud cases involved verifying electronic records, comparing signatures, and preserving evidence that could stand on its own. Watching her take notes calmed me more than any reassurance. Facts had edges. I could hold them. Brooke's version of events changed with the person listening, but the date on a form stayed the same.
"True," Nora said. "That's why we're not here to guess. We're here because someone provided your driver's license number and the name of your childhood street."
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The street was Birch Lane. There was only one person in this room who had lived there with me.
Then Nora turned a page and showed us the email address submitted with the form. It began with Brooke's initials.
