Chapter 3 - The Account My Mother Forgot
Rosalie killed the office light.
We stood in darkness.
Godfrey's footsteps approached the side entrance.
I could hear keys.
Metal against metal.
Rosalie grabbed my arm.
“Back room.”
I didn't move.
“Damian.”
“Why should I hide?”
“Because if he knows you have those documents, he'll destroy everything else.”
That was enough.
I followed her through a narrow door behind a storage rack.
The room smelled like oil and cardboard.
Rosalie pulled the door nearly closed.
Through the gap, I watched Godfrey enter.
He turned on the office lights.
He wasn't alone.
Selina walked behind him.
That surprised me.
What happened next surprised me more.
Godfrey opened the filing cabinet.
“Did Rosalie take anything?”
Selina whispered, “I don't know.”
“You were supposed to keep her away from this place.”
“I can't control every adult in the family.”
“You control everybody else.”
My mother glared.
Godfrey pulled files from the cabinet.
“Damian's asking too many questions.”
“He just found his wife looking like death.”
“Lower your voice.”
“No one is here.”
I almost stepped out.
Rosalie squeezed my wrist.
Wait.
Godfrey continued searching.
“He said the settlement's coming soon?”
“Yes.”
“A million?”
“That's what he said.”
Selina sounded almost excited.
“What if we can convince him to route it here?”
“He's suspicious.”
“He's emotional.”
“He's not stupid.”
A pause.
Then my mother said something I'll remember for the rest of my life.
“He was stupid enough to trust us for four years.”
I closed my eyes.
Rosalie looked at me.
I opened them again.
Godfrey laughed quietly.
“Fair.”
They kept talking.
And suddenly the entire plan appeared.
They believed I would return to Canada after Phedra stabilized.
They wanted me to place the settlement into a joint “family investment account.”
Godfrey would use most of it to expand the auto business.
Selina wanted to pay the refinanced mortgage and purchase rental property.
Phedra's medical treatment was barely mentioned.
Then Godfrey asked, “What about the authorization?”
Selina answered.
“Destroy it.”
“What about the hospital copies?”
“They don't have the original.”
My pulse quickened.
Godfrey cursed.
“I told you we should've stopped after the first one.”
First one?
Rosalie looked at me.
Neither of us moved.
Selina lowered her voice.
“She was going to call him.”
“So?”
“So I needed access.”
“To what?”
“Her accounts. Her email. Everything.”
My mouth went dry.
Phedra's accounts.
Godfrey sighed.
“Then you should've kept the old phone.”
“I threw it out.”
“What about Damian's email?”
“Still redirected?”
“Yes.”
My hands curled into fists.
That explained the missing messages.
Godfrey had manipulated my communication accounts while visiting Canada.
Selina had controlled Phedra's phone.
Between them, they had built a wall.
Not a perfect wall.
Just enough.
Enough for two exhausted people separated by thousands of miles.
Enough for Phedra to believe I was becoming distant.
Enough for me to believe she was simply tired.
Godfrey found what he wanted.
A folder.
He dropped papers into a metal trash can.
Then reached for a lighter.
I stepped out.
“Don't.”
Godfrey froze.
Selina turned.
The lighter remained in his hand.
Nobody spoke.
Then Godfrey looked at Rosalie.
“You.”
She stood behind me.
Selina's face became strangely calm.
“Damian, you're confused.”
“No.”
I walked toward the trash can and removed the papers.
“I'm becoming less confused every minute.”
Godfrey put down the lighter.
“This looks worse than it is.”
I almost smiled.
“That sentence is becoming a family tradition.”
I lifted the authorization.
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Silence.
I looked at Selina.
She stared back.
“Mom?”
“We were trying to help.”
That was confession enough for me.
But I wanted details.
“Help who?”
“Everyone.”
“By signing my name?”
“You were unreachable.”
“I was unreachable because Godfrey redirected my email.”
His face changed.
There it was.
I continued.
“And someone controlled Phedra's communications.”
Selina looked at Rosalie.
“Did you tell him that?”
Rosalie straightened.
“No.”
Selina's eyes narrowed.
I stepped between them.
“Look at me.”
My mother did.
“Why did you need Phedra's authorization?”
“To manage things.”
“What things?”
“Medical decisions.”
“Financial?”
“She was sick.”
“So?”
“So somebody had to act.”
“You mean somebody had to control her.”
Selina slapped the file against the desk.
“You have no idea what I dealt with while you were gone.”
“Then tell me.”
“She became desperate.”
“She had cancer.”
“She wanted money constantly.”
“For treatment.”
“Treatment that might not work.”
The words landed differently this time.
Not ignorant.
Calculated.
I finally understood my mother's logic.
She saw treatment as a bad investment.
Phedra's life had become a line item.
Godfrey's shop had growth potential.
The house increased in value.
The SUV had utility.
Cancer treatment offered no guaranteed return.
I felt sick.
I took out my phone.
Godfrey saw it.
“Were you recording?”
“No.”
He relaxed slightly.
I added, “But I don't need to.”
I held up the papers.
“These exist.”
Selina scoffed.
“Those prove nothing.”
“We'll see.”
I took the yellow envelope.
Godfrey stepped toward me.
I didn't move.
Rosalie did.
“Don't.”
He looked at her.
“You have no idea what you've done.”
She laughed nervously.
“Yes, I do.”
I left.
Nobody stopped me.
At the hospital, Phedra was awake.
Marcus had fallen asleep in the chair.
I touched his shoulder.
He woke.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
He looked at the envelope.
“You find something?”
“Enough.”
Marcus left to get coffee.
I sat beside Phedra.
She studied my face.
“What happened?”
I showed her the authorization.
She read the first page.
Then the second.
“I didn't sign this.”
“I know.”
She kept reading.
Her breathing changed.
“What?”
“This.”
She pointed to a paragraph.
It authorized Selina to access certain medical billing records and to receive reimbursements related to Phedra's care.
Reimbursements.
I hadn't noticed that word.
We read it again.
Then I searched the hospital documents.
Phedra had received financial assistance from a charitable treatment program.
Some costs had been reduced.
Some transportation reimbursements had been issued.
Yet Selina had always told me that every appointment cost enormous amounts.
I called the number on the paperwork the next morning.
They could not disclose details without verification.
Phedra authorized them.
The representative confirmed something that made my blood run cold.
Several reimbursements had been issued.
They had been deposited into an account listed under Phedra's name.
Phedra stared at me.
“I don't have another account.”
I asked for the bank name.
She couldn't give the complete number over the phone.
But she gave us the last four digits.
Phedra whispered, “I've never had an account ending in 7319.”
I wrote the number down.
Then remembered something.
One of the transfer envelopes from Selina's desk had a handwritten note.
Move P funds to 7319.
I stood.
Phedra stared at me.
“What?”
“There is an account.”
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
I called my bank in Canada and requested four years of transfer records.
Then I called the local bank named by the treatment program.
They couldn't provide information without legal documentation.
Fair enough.
So I called an attorney.
Her name was Elaine Brooks.
Marcus knew her through construction work.
She agreed to meet us that afternoon.
I brought everything.
Transfer records.
Authorization.
Photographs.
Screenshots.
Elaine spent forty minutes reading before she said much.
Then she removed her glasses.
“You need to stop confronting them.”
“Why?”
“Because if these documents are what they appear to be, this is bigger than a family argument.”
Phedra's face tightened.
Elaine continued.
“I need originals preserved. I need complete bank records. And Phedra needs to revoke every authorization immediately.”
“What about my money?”
“We trace it.”
“How?”
“Carefully.”
I told her about the million-dollar settlement.
Elaine looked up sharply.
“Have you received it?”
“Not yet.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Don't deposit it anywhere they can reach.”
“They can't.”
“Are you sure?”
I thought about my compromised email.
No.
I wasn't.
Elaine had me contact the Canadian attorney handling the settlement and place additional verification on every instruction.
No banking change without a video call and a security phrase.
No third-party authorization.
Nothing.
Then we checked my email account.
A forwarding rule existed.
Messages containing Phedra's name had been copied to an address I didn't recognize.
Deleted messages were automatically archived elsewhere.
The rule had been created during Godfrey's visit.
I stared at the date.
Phedra covered her mouth.
For eleven months, every desperate message she sent may have been intercepted.
We found seven.
I read the first.
Damian, I need you. Something is wrong and I'm scared.
I had never seen it.
The second:
Your mother says you told her not to send money for treatment. Please tell me yourself.
Never seen.
The third:
I don't care about the house anymore. I just want my husband.
I stopped reading.
Phedra cried quietly beside me.
I couldn't.
Not yet.
Anger was holding everything else back.
Elaine saved copies.
Then she asked Phedra a strange question.
“Did Selina ever take you to a bank?”
Phedra thought.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Maybe nine months ago.”
“Why?”
“She said I needed to sign paperwork for Damian's transfers.”
“What did you sign?”
“I don't know. I was sick that day.”
Elaine and I looked at each other.
The account ending in 7319.
We needed to know who controlled it.
That evening, Rosalie called.
Her voice shook.
“Damian, they're moving things.”
“What things?”
“Documents. Money. I heard Godfrey say your announcement scared them.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Rosalie.”
“I don't know.”
Then she whispered, “But Selina forgot about one account.”
“What account?”
“The one in Phedra's name.”
My grip tightened.
“7319?”
Rosalie went silent.
“How do you know that number?”
“Treatment reimbursements.”
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
“That wasn't what the account was created for.”
“What was it created for?”
She breathed once.
Then said, “Damian, your mother made Phedra the owner of something.”
“Of what?”
Before Rosalie could answer, someone pounded on her door.
She gasped.
A man's voice came through the phone.
Godfrey.
May you like
“Rosalie, open up.”
The call went dead.
