Chapter 15 - BLANK CHECKS
The safe was in my father's closet behind a row of old jackets.
I had seen it since high school and assumed it held passports, jewelry, maybe the title to the house.
It held all of that.
It also held five checks with my name printed at the top.
My old checking account.
Closed in 2020.
Each check was blank except for the signature line.
My signature sat there.
Or something trying to be it.
I picked one up.
"Who signed these?"
Dad sat on the edge of the bed.
Mom stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
"Britney practiced," Mom said.
The casualness of it hit me harder than the words.
"Practiced."
"Don't twist everything I say."
"I'm repeating it."
Dad looked sick.
"Diane, stop talking."
"Oh, now you care about what we say? You signed half the paperwork."
Dad looked at me.
There it was.
Another little door opening.
"What did you sign?"
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"The equipment loan. The first line increase. Maybe the renewal."
"In my name?"
"I signed as manager."
"Knowing I was listed as guarantor?"
He nodded.
I sat down in the desk chair because my knees felt weak.
This was not Britney anymore.
Not just Britney.
The easy version of the story had died.
Mom had built the system.
Dad had signed pieces of it.
Britney had learned how to use it.
And I had kept sending money into a machine I refused to look at too closely because being the competent daughter felt better than being the suspicious one.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Britney.
You there?
I typed yes.
She replied:
Check the bottom binder pocket.
I opened the second binder.
There was a plastic sleeve sewn into the back cover.
Inside: a photocopy of my limited power of attorney.
Expiration date: October 31, 2018.
Below it was another page.
Same document.
Different expiration date.
October 31, 2023.
I stared at it.
The font on the date was slightly darker.
"Dad."
He looked up.
I held the page out.
His face drained.
Mom said, "That was just so the bank wouldn't keep asking for updated documents."
For the first time since I arrived, Dad stood and faced her.
"You told me Erin renewed it."
Mom's jaw tightened.
"She would have if we'd asked."
"No," I said.
Mom looked at me.
"No, I would not have."
Dad took the paper from my hand.
His fingers shook.
"Diane, did you alter this?"
"I fixed the date."
He stared at her.
"That's not fixing."
"Don't start acting holy now."
"Did you alter it?"
"Yes!"
The word cracked through the room.
Dad flinched.
Mom's eyes filled with tears immediately, almost as if the admission had injured her.
"I was trying to keep us from losing everything."
Dad lowered himself back onto the bed.
Very quietly, he said, "You might have made us lose everything anyway."
Then the doorbell rang.
Mom froze.
Dad looked at me.
"Are you expecting someone?"
I wasn't.
May you like
The man on the porch introduced himself as Detective Aaron Bell.
