Large ones.
Money moving from an unfamiliar account into the company.
“This account belongs to your father.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Karen has been transferring money from a joint account she shares with him.”
“How much?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Based on what we can currently see?”
She pointed to a number.
$184,000.
I stopped breathing.
Dad cried when I told him.
I had never seen my father cry.
Not once.
He sat at my kitchen table—after Mia finally returned the furniture under threat of legal action—and covered his face. Furnitureassembly service
“I trusted her.”
Apparently, Karen handled most of the household finances.
Small transfers had started nearly two years earlier.
Then they increased.
Dad never noticed because Karen paid the bills.
But there was something else.
Something that explained why she had become so obsessed with me.
Six months earlier, Dad had quietly met with an estate attorney.
He wanted to update his will.
He planned to name me executor.
He had told Karen.
From that moment, everything changed.
Her criticism became constant.
According to Dad, she started telling relatives I was controlling.
Cold.
Obsessed with money.
Unstable.
Then Mia became more involved in the conflict.
Suddenly, the group chat made sense.
The exaggerated story.
The accusations.
The warning that I would “end up alone.”
They weren’t simply angry.
They had been building a version of me.
A selfish brother.
An unstable son.
Someone who couldn’t be trusted.
Someone Dad should never put in charge of anything.
Rachel believed the stolen furniture had been impulsive.
But the apartment wasn’t.
Karen had arranged it weeks earlier.
Mia apparently believed it would become her new home.
The furniture was moved there because the place was nearly empty.
Karen had promised Mia she would help pay the rent while her new business became profitable.
There was only one problem.
There was no profitable business.
K&M Property Solutions had barely operated.
It existed mainly to receive money.
Dad’s money.
My fraudulent credit applications.
And transfers Rachel had not fully traced yet.
Police became involved.
Then the bank’s fraud department.
And suddenly, people who had ignored my side began calling me.
An aunt apologized.
Then a cousin.
Then another relative.
Someone added me to the family group chat. Familygame night
I scrolled through the old messages.
The same people who had called me cruel were suddenly silent.
I typed only one message.
“I won’t discuss an active investigation. But the story you were told was not the truth.”
Then I left the group.
Mia appeared at my door two nights later.
She looked terrible.
No makeup.
Hair pulled back.
Eyes swollen from crying.
“I need to talk.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I almost shut the door.
Then she said:
“I didn’t know about the money.”
I stopped.
