PART5
“Borrowed money from Dad?”
“That’s what he said.”
I looked at Seth.
He immediately understood that something else was happening.
“Melissa,” I asked, “how much?”
“Ten thousand dollars, I think.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
Then I opened my banking records.
I had been helping my parents with their finances for years.
Dad had given me permission to manage several household payments after his accident.
I knew exactly which accounts were involved.
And something about Melissa’s statement bothered me.
I started looking through the transfers.
One payment caught my attention.
$10,000.
It had been transferred from my father’s household account to Roland’s personal account three months earlier.
The description said:
Emergency roof and home repair.
I stared at the screen.
There had been no roof repair.
I knew because I had arranged the contractor myself.
I checked the date again.
Then I checked the following month.
Another transfer.
$2,500.
Then another.
$1,800.
I called my father.
He answered after four rings.
“What?”
“Dad, did you give Roland ten thousand dollars for a roof repair?”
Silence.
Then he said, “That’s none of your business.”
My stomach tightened.
“It’s from the household account I manage.”
“I told you, don’t interfere.”
“Dad, where did the money go?”
He hung up.
Seth sat beside me.
“What are you thinking?”
I looked at the screen.
“I’m thinking there’s something else I don’t know.”
I wasn’t going to accuse anyone without evidence.
But I wasn’t going to ignore what I had just found either.
The next morning, I called my accountant.
Then I called my parents’ bank.
I explained that I wanted to review the authorized transactions on the household account and make sure no additional payments were being made without my father’s informed approval.
I also requested that my own business accounts be completely separated from any family-related arrangements.
I wasn’t going to allow another wedding, emergency, or family disagreement to put my business at risk.
By lunchtime, I had received an email from the venue coordinator.
The cancellation had been processed.
The $6,000 deposit was nonrefundable.
The venue would not accept further payments from me.
That was the end of my financial involvement in Roland’s wedding.
Or so I thought.
At 2:40 p.m., Lorie called.
Her voice sounded exhausted.
“Hollis, I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s okay. Are you all right?”
“Not really.”
She explained that Roland had been calling her parents all morning.
He had told them the recordings were taken out of context.
He claimed the children had been outside for only a few minutes and that I had deliberately waited until everyone was seated before bringing them inside.
Then she told me something that made my hands go cold.
“Roland said you were planning to take money from your parents’ house because you’re angry about the wedding.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He said you have access to their accounts and that you could make them lose their house.”
I looked at Seth.
That was when I understood.
Roland wasn’t simply trying to save his wedding.
He was trying to make everyone believe I was dangerous.
And suddenly, I remembered the transfers.
The ten thousand dollars.
The smaller payments.
The false roof-repair description.
I asked Lorie one question.
“Did Roland ever tell you what happened to the money your father gave him?”
She went quiet.
Then she whispered:
“Hollis, I think you need to talk to my father.”
I didn’t know what she was about to reveal.
But when I heard the next sentence, I realized Thanksgiving had only been the beginning.
Because Roland hadn’t just lied about paying for his wedding. He had apparently been telling two different families two completely different stories about where the money was coming from.
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Lorie was still on the phone.
“Hollis?”
“I’m here.”
“My father wants to meet you. He says there’s something you should know before Roland has a chance to change the story again.”
I looked at Seth.
He nodded.
“Tell him we’ll meet.”
That afternoon, we drove to a small restaurant in Bellbrook. Lorie was already there with her parents.
Her father, Richard, had brought a folder.
He didn’t waste time with small talk.
“Hollis, I owe you an apology. We believed Roland when he told us he was paying for most of the wedding himself. We thought you were simply helping with the catering as a wedding gift.”
I nodded.
“I understand.”
He opened the folder.
Inside were copies of several bank transfers, printed messages, and a handwritten repayment agreement.
Richard pointed to one page.
“Three months ago, Roland approached me asking for a $15,000 loan. He said he needed to cover some wedding expenses because his sister had temporarily delayed her contribution.”
I frowned.
“My contribution?”
“He said you had promised to pay him $20,000, but that you were having cash-flow problems with your catering business.”
I stared at him.
“I never said that.”
“I know. That’s why I asked him for proof. He showed me a message that he claimed came from you.”
Richard handed me a printed screenshot.
The message read:
I’ll cover the remaining wedding expenses. Don’t worry about the money. I want you and Lorie to have a beautiful day.
My stomach turned.
I had never sent it.
I looked closely at the screenshot.
The wording sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember writing it.
Then I noticed the date.
It was a day when Roland had borrowed my phone while helping me move some catering equipment.
I didn’t know whether he had fabricated the message or manipulated an old conversation.
But one thing was certain.
It wasn’t a promise to give him twenty thousand dollars.
Richard continued.
“I transferred five thousand dollars to him. He signed an agreement promising to repay it by January.”
Lorie lowered her head.
“I didn’t know about the loan.”
Richard nodded.
“Yesterday, when I asked him about the repayment, he told me the wedding had been canceled because Hollis had stolen money from your parents.”
I looked at Richard.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. But there’s something else.”
He turned another page.
It showed a transfer of $10,000 from my father’s account to Roland.
The description was listed as a home repair expense.
Richard pointed at it.
“Roland showed me this transaction as proof that your father was helping him pay for the wedding. He said it was a family gift.”
I felt sick.
My father had told me the money was for a roof repair.
And Roland had apparently used the same transaction to convince Lorie’s parents that he was financially responsible.
I leaned back.
“Does he know you’ve shown me this?”
