PART 3
I looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. Three months ago.
That was around the time Mom had called me complaining that Khloe was “going through a difficult period.”
I remembered that conversation. Mom hadn’t asked for money then.
She had simply said, “Your sister needs us right now.”
I had offered to call Khloe.
Mom had immediately told me not to.
“She doesn’t need another lecture.”
I had assumed Khloe didn’t want to talk.
Now I wondered whether Mom had simply wanted to keep me out of it.
“Why did you give them the money?” I asked.
“Because Grant came to me directly. He told me the business needed working capital.”
“What kind of business?”
“Construction consulting. At least that’s what he called it.”
I frowned.
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
The answer was painfully honest.
Thomas sighed.
“Grant is my son. I wanted to believe he could build something. I gave him a chance.”
“How much did you give him?”
“Ten thousand.”
“And the nineteen thousand?”
“That went toward their personal debts.”
“What personal debts?”
“Credit cards. Late rent. A car payment. Some wedding expenses.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you know they were already asking my parents for money?”
“No.”
“And did you know my parents were planning to ask me for thirty thousand?”
“No.”
Thomas’s voice became quieter.
“If I had known, I would have called you sooner.”
I didn’t answer.
He continued.
“Maya, I don’t want to get involved in your family.”
“Neither do I.”
“I understand.”
“But I need to know something.”
“What?”
“Do they still owe you money?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
I looked down at the paper.
“Have they paid you anything back?”
“No.”
Not one dollar.
I rubbed my forehead.
“Then why would my parents tell me they were thirty thousand dollars behind if they already had twenty-nine thousand from you?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did I.
But suddenly I had a theory.
And I didn’t like it.
“Thomas,” I said, “did you ever give them cash?”
“No. Bank transfers.”
“Do you have records?”
“Yes.”
“Could you send them to me?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t want to make things worse.”
“They’re already worse.”
Another silence.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll send them.”
We ended the call.
I remained at the table for several minutes.
Outside my windows, Chicago moved beneath a gray afternoon sky.
Cars crawled along the streets.
People walked with umbrellas.
A train passed in the distance.
My life looked completely normal.
But something inside me had shifted.
I opened my laptop.
Then I stopped.
I didn’t want to investigate my sister.
I didn’t want to become the kind of person who demanded bank statements from family members.
But I had spent too many years being told that asking questions made me selfish.
So this time, I asked.
At 4:17 p.m., Thomas sent the documents.
Three bank statements.
Two transfer confirmations.
One email exchange between him and Grant.
I opened the first transfer.
$19,000.
Recipient: Khloe Ellis Keller.
Description:
PERSONAL DEBT / TEMPORARY FAMILY LOAN.
I stared at it.
The second transfer was $10,000.
Recipient: Keller & Grant Consulting LLC.
Description:
BUSINESS CAPITAL — REPAYMENT AGREEMENT.
I opened the email.
Grant had promised to repay the business loan within six months.
He hadn’t.
Then I saw the date.
The ten thousand dollars had been transferred exactly three days after Grant had posted photographs from a luxury weekend in Las Vegas.
I remembered seeing those photographs.
Khloe had captioned one:
“Finally taking a break. We deserve this.”
I had liked the photograph.
I hadn’t thought anything of it.
I scrolled further.
There were invoices.
Hotel charges.
Restaurant receipts.
Furniture purchases.
A payment for nearly $4,800 at a designer home store.
Another for $2,100 at an electronics retailer.
Then a charge for $1,600 at a luxury resort.
None of those were mine.
But suddenly they felt strangely connected to me.
Because every time they spent money they didn’t have, someone eventually came looking for mine.
I shut the laptop.
My hands were trembling.
Not because I was angry.
Because I was embarrassed.
I had spent years believing that my family simply saw me differently.
Now I was beginning to understand that they had also learned something about me.
They believed I would eventually give in.
I was their safety net.
Their emergency fund.
Their responsible daughter.
The person who would clean up the mess after everyone else finished making it.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I let it ring.
She called again.
I answered.
“Hello.”
“You’ve been ignoring me.”
“I’ve been working.”
“Your father says you’re still upset.”
“I am.”
“We’re your parents, Maya.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you treating us like strangers?”
I looked at the documents on my desk.
“Mom, did Thomas give Khloe and Grant money?”
Silence.
It was brief.
But I heard it.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“He helped them.”
“How much?”
“Maya, this isn’t your concern.”
I laughed softly.
“You’re right.”
That seemed to irritate her.
“You’re being sarcastic.”
“No. I’m agreeing with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t understand why their finances became my concern the moment you wanted thirty thousand dollars.”
Mom’s voice hardened.
“Thomas’s money isn’t the same.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s Grant’s father.”
“And you’re Khloe’s mother.”
“Exactly.”
“So why isn’t Khloe asking you for thirty thousand?”
Another silence.
“She has already asked us.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
I knew she was lying.
Not because I could prove it.
Because I had known my mother long enough to recognize the tiny change in her breathing whenever she was hiding something.
“How much has she received from you?”
“Maya—”
“How much?”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Mom.”
“She needed help.”
“How much?”
“About twelve thousand.”
My stomach dropped.
“Twelve thousand?”
“Yes.”
“And Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He handles some things separately.”
I stood.
“So let’s count this.”
“Maya, stop.”
“Thomas gave them twenty-nine thousand.”
“You don’t know the circumstances.”
“Then tell me.”
“They had bills.”
“Thomas said they had bills too.”
“They did.”
“And you gave them twelve thousand.”
“We’re their parents.”
“And now you’re asking me for thirty.”
“They still need it.”
“How much have you given them total?”
Mom said nothing.
I closed my eyes.
“Mom.”
“About twenty thousand.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
Twenty thousand from my parents.
Twenty-nine thousand from Thomas.
And now thirty thousand from me.
That was seventy-nine thousand dollars.
“Where did all that money go?”
“You’re making this sound terrible.”
“Because it is.”
“You don’t understand what they’ve been through.”
“Then explain it.”
“They’re young.”
“Khloe is thirty.”
“They made mistakes.”
“Expensive ones.”
“They’re trying.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is everyone else paying for the consequences?”
Mom’s voice cracked.
“Because family does that.”
“No.”
I spoke more firmly this time.
“Family helps each other get back on their feet. Family doesn’t keep paying for the same behavior while pretending nothing needs to change.”
“You think you’re better than your sister.”
“No.”
“You’ve always thought you were better.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is.”
“No, Mom. I simply stopped living the way you expected me to live.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I stopped spending money I didn’t have.”
Silence.
“I stopped expecting someone else to fix my mistakes.”
Silence again.
“And I stopped believing that being responsible meant I owed everyone around me a rescue.”
Mom began crying.
I hated hearing it.
For years, her tears had been the fastest way to make me surrender.
But something had changed.
Her tears didn’t make me feel guilty anymore.
They made me sad.
There was a difference.
“I love you,” I said.
“Then help your sister.”
“I love Khloe too.”
“Then help her.”
“No.”
She inhaled sharply.
“I can’t believe you.”
“I know.”
“You’re really going to let her lose everything?”
“No.”
Mom sounded surprised.
“What?”
“I said no.”
I looked down at the documents again.
“If Khloe loses everything because she can’t afford the life she’s living, that’s not something I can prevent with thirty thousand dollars.”
“You’re heartless.”
“No.”
I paused.
“I’m finally being honest.”
I ended the call.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t immediately regret it.
I went to bed that night with the phone turned off.
At 6:12 the next morning, someone knocked on my door.
I froze.
Nobody was supposed to be there.
I walked to the security monitor.
The hallway camera showed a man standing outside my condo.
Grant.
My sister’s husband.
He was holding a small cardboard box.
I didn’t open the door.
Instead, I spoke through the intercom.
“What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Khloe.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“Maya, please.”
“What is in the box?”
“Documents.”
My heart skipped.
“What documents?”
“I can’t explain through the door.”
I stared at him through the camera.
He looked different from the photographs Khloe posted.
Tired.
Unshaven.
His expensive clothes were wrinkled.
For once, he didn’t look like the confident businessman who had spent months telling everyone he was about to launch a successful company.
I unlocked the door.
But I kept the chain attached.
“Come in.”
He stepped inside.
His eyes immediately traveled around my condo.
For a second, I wondered whether he was thinking about the same thing my mother had thought.
How much money does she have?
Then he looked at me.
“I owe you an apology.”
I said nothing.
He placed the box on the kitchen counter.
“I should have talked to you before your parents asked.”
“What exactly should you have told me?”
“That we were in trouble.”
“You were already in trouble.”
He nodded.
“We are.”
“How much?”
He looked down.
“I don’t know anymore.”
“That’s an interesting answer.”
“I mean it.”
He rubbed his face.
“There’s more debt than Khloe knows.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“Some of it is business debt.”
“Some?”
He nodded.
“Some is personal.”
“How much?”
“I don’t have an exact number.”
“Then give me an estimate.”
He swallowed.
“More than sixty thousand.”
I stared at him.
“You’re telling me you’re more than sixty thousand dollars in debt after receiving almost thirty thousand from your father?”
“Yes.”
“And twenty thousand from my parents?”
His eyes widened.
“You know about that?”
“My mother told me.”
He looked away.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Khloe doesn’t know about all of it.”
I stepped back.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“I didn’t accuse you of stealing.”
“I used the business account for personal expenses.”
“How much?”
“About eighteen thousand.”
I stared at him.
“Eighteen thousand?”
“I was going to replace it.”
“When?”
“When the business started making money.”
“And did it?”
“No.”
I looked at the box.
“What is in there?”
He opened it.
Inside were envelopes.
Statements.
Contracts.
Invoices.
Loan agreements.
And something else.
A folder with my name written across the front.
I didn’t touch it.
“What is that?”
Grant looked uncomfortable.
“Your name came up in one of the conversations.”
“My name?”
He nodded.
“Your mother told us you would probably help.”
The room went completely still.
I slowly reached for the folder.
Inside was a printed email.
The sender was my mother.
The recipient was Grant.
The date was six weeks earlier.
I read the first line.
Don’t worry. Maya has plenty saved.
I read it again.
Then again.
My chest tightened.
I kept scrolling.
There were several emails.
Mom had been discussing my finances with Grant.
My salary.
My promotion.
My condo.
Even the fact that I didn’t have children.
One sentence made my hands go cold.
She doesn’t have anyone depending on her, so she can afford to help.
I looked at Grant.
“She wrote this?”
He nodded.
“There are more.”
I kept reading.
Another email.
Once Maya understands how serious this is, she’ll do the right thing.
Then another.
Don’t ask her yourself. Let me and her father handle it.
My eyes burned.
This wasn’t an emergency request.
It had been planned.
Discussed.
Strategized.
They had decided how to approach me.
When.
What number to use.
Who would make me feel guilty.
I closed the folder.
“Why are you giving me this?”
Grant’s face changed.
“Because I don’t want to keep lying.”
“Why now?”
He looked toward the windows.
“Because I made a terrible mistake.”
“What mistake?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“The thirty thousand isn’t actually for the debts you think it is.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Your parents told you it was to catch up on bills.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not the whole reason.”
“Then what is the reason?”
Grant looked directly at me.
“They need the money by Friday.”
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“Because someone is threatening to take the business.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with Khloe?”
“Everything.”
“How?”
Grant’s voice dropped.
“Because the business isn’t really mine.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He reached into the box and pulled out a document.
Then he placed it in front of me.
“This company belongs to someone else.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“My father?”
Grant nodded.
“And there’s one more thing you need to know.”
He pushed another document toward me.
“This is why your parents suddenly decided to visit you.”
I looked down.
It was a loan agreement.
My name was printed on the final page.
But I had never signed it.
And beneath my name was a signature that looked frighteningly familiar.
It looked like mine.
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