Chapter 3 - THE WRONG PERSON
Aaron spent Tuesday evening tracing every transfer he had made since 2017.
The money always entered the same joint checking account. He had assumed Crossroads Community Bank withdrew the mortgage payment afterward, but he had never requested proof.
That assumption now embarrassed him.
Dana sat across from him at the kitchen table while Jonah and Maisie slept upstairs.
“You trusted your parents,” she said.
“I ignored every reason not to.”
“There’s a difference.”
“Not to my bank balance.”
Dana examined the spreadsheet.
“Where do you think the money went?”
“Caroline.”
It was the obvious explanation.
Caroline’s event-planning company had survived two reorganizations, a pandemic shutdown, and several periods when her social media showed expensive family vacations despite rumors that vendors had not been paid.
Whenever Caroline needed help, Beatrice called it an emergency. Whenever Aaron needed anything, she called it a lesson.
The following afternoon, Aaron drove to Juniper & Lace, Caroline’s office near Carmel’s Arts and Design District.
Caroline was arranging sample menus when he entered.
“You can’t come in here and intimidate me,” she said.
“I asked where the mortgage money went.”
“I don’t have your money.”
“Dad was at your house yesterday.”
“Our air conditioner stopped working.”
“Did they pay for it?”
Caroline looked away.
“How much?”
“That is none of your business.”
“It became my business when four payments disappeared.”
She set the menus down.
“You always do this. You help, keep score, and then act morally superior.”
“I never told you I was paying their mortgage.”
“Because you weren’t.”
Aaron stared at her.
Caroline walked to a filing cabinet and removed a blue folder.
“Mom said you stopped helping after your divorce. She said Dad’s pension and her savings covered the house.”
“She told you that?”
“She told everyone that.”
Caroline opened the folder and slid a recorded transfer-on-death deed across the desk.
The document had been signed in October 2020. Upon the deaths of Everett and Beatrice Holloway, the Carmel house would transfer entirely to Caroline.
Aaron read it twice.
“You knew about this?”
“They wanted the house to stay with the child who remained close.”
“I live twelve miles away.”
“You visit when it fits your schedule.”
“I have paid nearly two hundred thousand dollars toward a house they left to you.”
Caroline’s face changed, but not enough for him to know whether he had shocked her or cornered her.
“You’re lying.”
Aaron opened the banking folder on his phone and showed her the transfers.
She scrolled through the records.
“No. Mom said those were old.”
“The last one was May 12.”
Caroline sat down.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she unlocked her phone and searched through messages from Beatrice.
The messages were not subtle.
Aaron hasn’t contributed in years.
Your brother has money for himself but none for family.
The house will be your responsibility because you’re the only one who understands loyalty.
Caroline placed the phone on the desk.
“I didn’t know.”
Aaron wanted to believe she was acting. That would have made the anger easier to place.
“Did Mom give you money this year?”
Caroline’s jaw tightened.
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Twelve thousand.”
“For an air conditioner?”
“For several things.”
“From January through May?”
Caroline did not answer.
Aaron collected his documents.
“You knew they were struggling and still took money.”
“They offered.”
“They always offer to you.”
“And you always make sure everyone knows when you pay.”
“No one knew.”
“That’s what you say.”
Aaron reached the door, then turned.
“Why was your handbag on the empty chair?”
Caroline looked genuinely uncomfortable for the first time.
“Mom put it there.”
“You could have moved it.”
“Yes.”
The admission was quiet.
“I could have.”
That evening, Caroline sent Aaron screenshots of every message Beatrice had written about him during the past three years.
The final screenshot was dated two weeks before the birthday.
Beatrice had written:
Aaron and the children may stop by with the cake, but they will not be staying for lunch. Please don’t discuss the house while he is there.
May you like
The exclusion had not resulted from a seating mistake.
It had been planned.
