Page 159 of Making Choices

“Huh?”

Sander leaves my question hanging until we’re alone in his account manager’s office. After closing the door behind us, my brother addresses the woman on the other side of the desk. “Check her account, too.”

“Can I have your full name, birth date, and identification PIN please, Lilianna?”

“Ah.” I look up at Sander. He inclines his head with a sharp nod that tells me to get on with it. “Lilianna Scarlett Mayberry. Born February fourteen in the year two thousand. My PIN is oh-one-oh-two-nine-three.”

“Thought you woulda changed that by now. Maybe today?”

My PIN is Zeke’s birthday.

February 1st, 1993.

It’s a sentimentality that I should dispense with, yet I can’t bring myself to do it.

“Maybe.”

My mumbled non-answer passes without comment from my twin.

“What’s she checking?”

“The balance of your trust. It’s probably empty.”

“Unlikely,” I retort. “I’ve never touched it.”

“I know.”

Flopping into the seat, I shake my head. “Then why would it be empty?”

“Dad. He’s emptied mine, too.”

“The balance is zero and the account closure was authorised to take effect in ten business days,” the bank lady announces. She prints something out and slides it across the table. As I scan the document, including the signature field that contains a distinctive scrawl, my pulse begins to race. “Same signature on this withdrawal as well. Brutus Cain Mayberry.”

“That’s impossible.” As my brain catches up with the full implications of Sander’s statement, I whirl around to face the account manager. “Did he empty the boys as well?”

“I would need their permission to check... or your father’s.”

“Actually, hold that thought.” Pulling my phone out of my handbag, I open the banking app and use Face ID to access my saved logins. “He used my phone to transfer money to me when I was at the safe house and I’m pretty sure his details autosaved.” As I jab the screen to select the client number that isn’t mine, I glance up at Sander, who’s hovering over me like I’m at risk of being shot. In an attempt to blunt the shock that’s threatening to pull me under, I joke, “Cub better watch out or he’ll find himself out of a job.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he half-heartedly teases me. “I’m sure he’s quakin’ in his boots.”

Our muted humour dies when the screen loads and we discover multiple accounts with zero balances. My trust account. Sander’s. Everett’s. Both of our younger brothers. It’s all gone. Two million dollars stolen from each of his kids.

As bad as that is, the biggest red flag is the lack of funds in Dad’s accounts.

I click on his everyday account.

The funds were transferred to a different bank yesterday.

I check his savings.

Empty as of eighteen hours ago.

One by one, I snoop through our father’s finances.

A trail of deception quickly reveals itself. After attending this branch three days ago to manually withdraw every dollar from his kids’ trust accounts, he deposited the lump sum into his main account, then immediately transferred it to an account in his name at another financial institution.

“How do we get our money back?”

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