Chapter 4 - THE MONEY AARON SAID WAS OURS
The next morning, Dad made coffee.
I opened my laptop.
If I was going to stay away from the house, I needed money.
That sounds obvious.
It wasn’t.
My salary went into a joint checking account.
Aaron handled most bills.
That had begun after Caleb was born because I was exhausted and he was home.
Dad sat across from me.
“How much do you have in your own account?”
I hesitated.
“About twelve hundred.”
“How much is in joint?”
“I don’t know.”
His eyes lifted.
“I know.”
“No. You know approximately.”
I logged in.
Then stopped.
The balance was $3,418.
It should have been over $26,000.
I refreshed the page.
Same number.
“There’s something wrong.”
Dad moved beside me.
“When did you last check?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Statements?”
“Aaron switched everything paperless.”
I opened transaction history.
Transfers.
Thousands at a time.
Several to an account I did not recognize.
Dad did not touch the computer.
“Do you know that account?”
“No.”
More transactions.
Payments to a credit card I had never seen.
Cash withdrawals.
A recurring transfer labeled consulting.
“What consulting?”
“I don’t know.”
My breathing became shallow.
Dad placed a glass of water beside me.
“Keep going.”
I found eighteen months of movement.
My paycheck arriving.
Money leaving.
My inheritance deposit from Mom had originally covered the SUV and part of our house down payment.
The remaining amount was supposed to stay untouched.
Gone.
Almost all of it.
I called Aaron.
Dad did not stop me.
Aaron answered immediately.
“Finally.”
“Where is the money?”
Silence.
“What money?”
“Our account.”
“Elena, not this again.”
“What account are you transferring it to?”
His voice changed.
“You don’t understand the finances.”
“Then explain them.”
“I invested some.”
“In what?”
“A business.”
“What business?”
“My business.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“You told me you were still planning.”
“I’ve been building it.”
“With my salary?”
“With our money.”
“What company?”
He refused to answer directly.
Then I heard Diane in the background.
“Don’t let her bully you.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Aaron, put your mother on.”
“No.”
“Is she involved?”
“Stop.”
Dad held out his hand.
Not for the phone.
For me to slow down.
I understood.
Facts.
Not argument.
I ended the call.
Then Dad asked:
“Who handles your taxes?”
“Aaron’s cousin Declan.”
“Find copies.”
I did.
Two hours later, we found something else.
A small LLC registered ten months earlier.
Aaron Brooks listed as manager.
Diane Brooks listed as registered agent.
And, buried inside supporting documents, my name listed as a contributing member.
I had never seen it.
Dad read the page twice.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
I looked at the signature.
It resembled mine.
But the E was wrong.
I knew my own hand.
“No.”
Dad stood.
“Now we call someone.”
“Who?”
“Not the Army.”
He almost smiled.
“My attorney.”
That was when I finally understood the four-star credential had scared Aaron for the wrong reason.
Dad was not going to use influence.
May you like
He was going to use documentation.
And unlike Diane, he knew exactly how patient consequences could be.
