Chapter 7 - THE COLLEGE FUNDS THAT DISAPPEARED BEFORE THE VACATION
Becky requested a meeting through her attorney.
Not with me.
With investigators.
Then child services.
Her story shifted.
She said Marcus handled money.
She knew Southern Stay was struggling.
Did not know he forged my guaranty.
Did know they were planning to remain in California longer than they told family.
“How much longer?” I asked Tasha.
“She says several months.”
“With children in Atlanta.”
“She says Marcus told her you agreed.”
“Did she ever call me?”
“No.”
“Text?”
“No.”
“Email?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Tasha looked at me.
“She says Marcus told her you preferred communicating through him.”
I laughed.
“He made me his imaginary employee.”
Tasha did not laugh.
Becky admitted helping change school records.
Admitted packing birth certificates.
Admitted packing six months of guardianship instructions.
Claimed she believed it was temporary and consensual.
Then she admitted something else.
They had intended to live in California.
Not Napa full-time.
Sacramento first.
Then possibly wine country if the property deal worked.
“Why no kids?” I asked.
“Marcus said school stability.”
That was almost funny.
They withdrew the kids from school.
Tasha said, “Becky claims she believed you would enroll them near you.”
“I live fifteen minutes from their existing school.”
“I know.”
“So the international relocation form?”
“She says Marcus handled it.”
Every sentence was becoming Marcus handled it.
Useful if true.
Convenient if not.
Then the financial review reached the children.
Their paternal grandparents—my parents—had opened 529 college accounts when each child was born.
Small.
Not family-wealth money.
Leo: $21,600.
Maya: $15,800.
Ruby: $9,400.
Total around $46,800 before withdrawals.
Dad called me before Aaron did.
“We need to tell you something.”
I closed my eyes.
“Please let this be about weather.”
He started crying.
My father almost never cried.
“Marcus took the college money.”
I sat down.
“How?”
“We owned the accounts.”
“You and Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Then Marcus couldn’t withdraw it.”
“We did.”
I stopped.
“You withdrew it.”
“He needed bridge financing.”
“Dad.”
“He said it was temporary.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
I stared at the kitchen wall.
“When?”
“Over the last year.”
“Did he repay anything?”
“No.”
“Did Mom agree?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said the Napa deal would triple it.”
I laughed once.
My father’s voice cracked.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do now.”
“Stop saying that.”
Silence.
“How much did you put into Southern Stay besides the 529s?”
“Our thirty-five.”
“So more than eighty thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“What did Marcus promise?”
“Ten percent.”
“Of what?”
“The company.”
“Did you get documents?”
“Some.”
“Send them to Aaron.”
“Kendra.”
“What?”
“Your mother is sick over this.”
“Good.”
“That’s cruel.”
“No.”
I stood.
“Cruel is taking a child’s college savings and calling it bridge financing because the golden son promises wine-country returns.”
Dad went silent.
I hung up.
Then hated myself.
Not because it was inaccurate.
Because Leo was upstairs.
And I was becoming loud.
I went outside to the balcony before anger spread into the apartment.
Ten minutes later, Leo joined me.
“You okay?”
“I’m supposed to ask you that.”
He shrugged.
“Grandpa called my phone.”
I turned.
“What did he say?”
“Sorry.”
My stomach tightened.
“For?”
“He said college money.”
So Dad had told him.
I wanted to scream.
Adults could not stop making children carry adult information.
“Leo.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“That phrase is becoming a problem.”
He almost smiled.
I said, “Your college money is not your responsibility.”
“It was mine.”
“It was for you.”
“Same.”
“No.”
I leaned on the railing.
“You do not have to solve what adults spent.”
“Will I still go?”
“To college?”
He nodded.
“If you want to.”
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“With your money?”
I froze.
There.
The family inheritance.
Kendra fixes it.
I chose my answer carefully.
“Not because your dad made a mess.”
“Then?”
“If someday I choose to help you with school, it will be because I choose to.”
He stared at me.
“Different?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He thought about it.
Then:
“Dad always said you’d pay if it got bad.”
I felt cold.
“What exactly?”
“He said, ‘Aunt Kendra acts tough, but she won’t let you kids suffer.’”
There was Marcus’s business model.
Not just on a pitch deck.
Taught to his son.
The next financial records showed withdrawals from the 529s moved to Southern Stay.
Then some to personal expenses.
A minivan lease.
Credit-card bills.
The California property deposit.
And one payment:
$12,000 to Williams Senior Support.
I did not recognize it.
Aaron did.
“It’s your parents.”
“What?”
A joint account nickname.
Marcus had sent them money.
“Why?”
They had told me he had not repaid anything.
I called Dad.
He answered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did Marcus send you twelve thousand?”
Silence.
“When?”
“April.”
“For what?”
“Part of what we invested.”
“So he paid you with the kids’ college funds.”
“We didn’t know that.”
“Did you know where Southern Stay money came from?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
He breathed out.
“No.”
Of course.
The family pattern was not always lying.
Sometimes it was refusing to ask the question that might make money morally inconvenient.
Then Aaron found another transfer.
$7,500.
Recipient:
K. Williams.
My name.
My old address.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I never received it.”
“It was a cashier’s check.”
“Cashed?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
“We’ll need the bank image.”
Three days later, we got it.
The endorsement read:
KENDRA L. WILLIAMS.
The signature was not mine.
Below it:
For deposit only.
Account ending 7714.
Owner:
May you like
Denise Williams.
My mother had deposited a check written to me into her account.
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