Chapter 7 - The Master Key
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I tossed Evelyn the keys to my rental truck. She practically skipped out the front door, eager to get her hands on more of my money. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, I sprinted down the hallway toward her locked home office.
"Maya!" I whispered sharply.
Maya appeared from the basement stairs holding a heavy, metal hairpin. "I learned how to pick this lock three years ago," she said, her voice filled with a grim sort of pride.
She knelt in front of the door, inserting the pin and twisting it with practiced precision. Within five seconds, a satisfying click echoed in the hallway.
"You are incredible," I breathed, pushing the door open.
"You have about two minutes before she realizes there's no briefcase," Maya warned, standing guard by the door.
I rushed into the office. It was meticulously organized. I went straight for the heavy oak desk in the center of the room. The drawers were unlocked. Inside, I found a stack of bank statements from a joint account in Evelyn and Greg's names.
I flipped through them rapidly, snapping photos with my phone.
The transfers were undeniable. Every month, exactly three days after I wired my mother the money for Maya, three thousand dollars was transferred from Evelyn's account directly to a business account titled "Greg Vance Renovations."
Greg didn't have a renovation business. He flipped houses poorly and went bankrupt twice. My mother was funding his failed schemes using my daughter's food money.
I opened the bottom drawer and found a leather-bound ledger. I opened it and started taking pictures of every page. It detailed Airbnb profits, cash gifts to Greg, and a disturbing column labeled "Maya Expenses," which rarely exceeded fifty dollars a month.
"Dad, she's coming back up the driveway!" Maya hissed from the hallway.
I shoved the ledger back into the drawer, closed it quietly, and sprinted out of the office. Maya locked the door perfectly behind us just as the front door rattled open.
I practically dove onto the living room sofa, pretending to massage my temples.
Evelyn walked in, looking frustrated. "Jason, there's no briefcase in the truck."
May you like
"Really?" I asked, feigning confusion. "I must have left it at the rental counter at the airport. Dammit. I'll have to go back tomorrow."
Evelyn sighed, clearly disappointed. "Well, your coffee is ready."
