PART4

She opened another section of her folder.

“Before I tell you anything else, I need to ask you something. Have you received any documents recently requesting your signature?”

“No.”

“Any emails from a bank?”

“No.”

“Any calls about refinancing your son’s house?”

I shook my head.

Linda’s expression changed.

“Then I think we need to review something.”

She pulled out a printed document.

It was a mortgage refinancing inquiry.

The property address was Michael’s house.

The proposed loan amount was substantially higher than the original mortgage balance.

And under the section listing additional assets and financial support, my name appeared.

I leaned closer.

“What is this?”

Linda pointed to a paragraph.

“Your son has apparently represented that you are willing to provide continuing financial support.”

I felt something cold settle in my stomach.

“Did I sign this?”

“No.”

“Then why is my name here?”

“That’s exactly what we need to find out.”

I sat back.

For the first time since Christmas night, my anger was replaced by something else.

Concern.

Not for Michael’s feelings.

For what he might have been doing behind my back.

Linda closed the folder.

“Margaret, don’t contact him about this yet. I want to verify the records, and I strongly recommend that you speak with your bank. If anyone has used your information without permission, we need to know.”

I nodded.

Then I looked at the green ledger again.

“Linda?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’ve been keeping the wrong records.”

She tilted her head.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been recording how much I’ve given them. But I never recorded how much I’ve sacrificed to give it.”

Linda reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“Then perhaps it’s time you stopped sacrificing.”

That afternoon, I went to the bank.

I had been doing business with the same institution for twenty-seven years.

The branch manager, Daniel Reeves, knew me personally. He had handled my business accounts when Morgan Financial was still operating out of that little office between the laundromat and the pharmacy.

I explained what had happened.

He listened without interrupting.

When I mentioned the refinancing document, he became serious.

“Mrs. Morgan, I want to review the access permissions on your accounts.”

He turned his computer toward himself.

After several minutes, he frowned.

“Do you recognize this authorization?”

He showed me a record dated eighteen months earlier.

It listed Michael as an authorized contact on one of my accounts.

I blinked.

“What?”

“He’s listed as someone permitted to discuss certain account information.”

“I never authorized that.”

Daniel looked at the screen again.

“There’s a document attached to the request.”

He printed it.

I stared at the signature.

It looked like mine.

But it wasn’t.

The M was too rounded.

The final letters were written too quickly.

And the signature lacked the small upward stroke Thomas had always teased me about.

Someone had copied my name.

I felt my stomach tighten.

“Daniel, I didn’t sign this.”

He nodded.

“Then we’ll flag the authorization, preserve the records, and have our security department investigate. I’ll also help you review every account and connection.”

For the next hour, we went through everything.

My personal checking account.

My savings.

My business accounts.

The small education fund I had established for Liam and Grace.

The emergency account I had created years earlier.

And finally, a joint savings account that I had opened with Michael when he was a teenager.

That account had been inactive for years.

Or at least, I thought it had been.

Daniel clicked on the transaction history.

Then he stopped.

“Mrs. Morgan?”

“What?”

“I think you should look at this.”

He turned the monitor toward me.

There were several transfers.

Small amounts at first.

Then larger ones.

$2,000.

$3,500.

$5,000.

The transfers had been made over a period of fourteen months.

I counted them twice.

The total was $27,600.

I stared at the screen.

“Where did that money go?”

Daniel pointed to the destination account.

It belonged to a company I didn’t recognize.

North Ridge Property Consulting LLC.

“Do you know this business?”

“No.”

“Do you recognize the account holder?”

I shook my head.

Daniel printed the transaction records.

“I recommend that you report these transactions as unauthorized immediately. We can begin the investigation, but I don’t want you contacting anyone or attempting to recover the funds yourself.”

I nodded.

My hands were cold.

I had spent years believing that my generosity was the reason my son had been able to build a comfortable life.

Now I was beginning to wonder whether he had been treating my trust as another source of income.

When I returned home, there was a message from Rachel.

My daughter.

The one person I had not yet heard from.

Rachel: Mom, Michael says you stopped helping them. What happened? Please call me.

I stared at her message.

Rachel lived in Boston with her husband, David, and their little boy.

Unlike Michael, she had never asked for much.

She had always insisted on paying me back whenever I helped her.

Sometimes she even refused my birthday gifts because she didn’t want me spending money.

I called her.

She answered immediately.

“Mom?”

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“Are you okay?”

Her voice was full of worry.

“I’m fine.”

“Michael called me this morning. He said you suddenly canceled all the payments and that you were angry because you weren’t invited to Christmas.”

I looked at the snow-covered driveway.

“Did he tell you why I wasn’t invited?”

There was a pause.

“No.”

“Did he tell you what he said after I called him last night?”

Another pause.

“Mom, what did he say?”

I told her.

Every word.

I explained how I had heard him laughing about my money.

How he had described me as someone who thought paying bills entitled me to a place at his table.

And how he had told everyone that my presence made Christmas complicated.

Rachel didn’t interrupt.

When I finished, I heard her take a shaky breath.

“Oh, Mom.”

I waited.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

My heart tightened.

“What is it?”

“Last month, I asked Michael whether you were coming to Christmas dinner.”

I closed my eyes.

“What did he say?”

“He told me you preferred staying home. He said you didn’t like driving in the snow anymore, and that you had already made other plans.”

I stared at the wall.

“I never said that.”

“I know that now.”

Rachel’s voice cracked.

“I should have called you myself. I should have checked. I’m so sorry.”

I swallowed.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart.”

“But it is partly my fault. I believed him without asking you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Rachel said something that made me sit up straight.

“Mom, there’s something else. Nicole told me something at Thanksgiving.”

“What?”

“She said you had offered to give them another fifty thousand dollars next year.”

I felt my fingers tighten around the phone.

“What?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART5…