Chapter 2

They didn't wait for me to schedule a meeting. The next evening, my doorbell rang, a series of sharp, impatient presses. I knew who it was before I even looked through the peephole.

The sound of their angry muttering came through the door. I opened it to find my brother Leo, his wife Chloe, and my mother standing there, a united front of accusation.

"We need to talk," Leo said, pushing past me into my apartment. Chloe followed, her arms crossed, her eyes scanning my living room with disapproval. My mother trailed behind them, looking anxious.

The air immediately filled with tension. They stood in the middle of my rug like a raiding party.

"Sarah, where is the money?" Leo asked, his voice loud in the quiet space. He didn't waste any time.

I closed the door and faced them, keeping my expression neutral.

"I told you on the phone, Leo. There is no large sum of money sitting in the account."

"Don't lie to me!" he exploded. "Just don't!"

Chloe chimed in, her voice dripping with cynicism. "No money? Really? You live in this nice apartment, you have that new computer on your desk, you wear nice clothes. Where do you think we are, stupid?"

"My apartment and my things are paid for with my salary," I stated calmly. "From the money I earn at my job. It has nothing to do with the family account."

My calm response only seemed to fuel their anger. It was like they wanted me to scream and cry, to confess. My composure was an insult to their narrative.

Leo pulled out his phone and started tapping at the calculator app. "Let's do the math right here. Mom put in fifty thousand dollars when she retired. You were supposed to put in five hundred a month. It's been twenty-four months. That's another twelve thousand dollars from you. Total in: sixty-two thousand."

He held the phone up as if it were undeniable proof. "Mom's mortgage and bills are, what, two grand a month? At most? So over two years, that's forty-eight thousand in expenses. Sixty-two thousand minus forty-eight thousand leaves fourteen thousand. So where is the fourteen thousand dollars, Sarah? That's not even counting the interest it should have earned."

His logic was so confident, so aggressive. He was presenting a case to a jury of three.

I looked at my mother. For a moment, she seemed to want to de-escalate. "Leo, please, let's not shout," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Sarah has always been so good with these things. I'm sure there's just a misunderstanding."

I felt a small, foolish flicker of hope. Maybe she would be the voice of reason. Maybe she would defend me.

But then her expression shifted. She turned to me, her eyes pleading. "But, Sarah, honey... Leo really does need that car. His job depends on it. You know how important that is. Can't you just give him the five thousand? As a loan? From the account? We can sort out the numbers later."

And just like that, the hope died.

Her real purpose for being here was clear. It wasn't to find the truth or to defend me. It was to get Leo his money.

My supposed role as the impartial "keeper" of the funds was a sham. I was just the bad guy, the obstacle standing between her favored son and what he wanted.

The misunderstanding she wanted to clear up was my refusal to pay.