…that the account he had drained wasn’t the real college fund.
I remember staring at my phone, my hands trembling as his voice cracked through the speaker. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” he shouted, panic bleeding into every word.
Before I could even respond, my daughters—Emma and Lily—exchanged a calm glance. The same smirk from days ago returned, only now I understood it wasn’t confidence—it was control.
Emma gently took the phone from me. “Hi, Dad,” she said coolly. “Looking for the money?”
“You little—where is it?!” he barked.
Lily leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Safe,” she replied. “Where you can’t touch it.”
Silence. Then a shaky breath from his end.
Emma continued, “You taught us to be careful with money, remember? So when you started acting… different, we moved the real fund months ago.”
“To an account you don’t have access to,” Lily added. “In Mom’s name.”
“And the one you emptied?” Emma said, almost kindly. “That was just a decoy.”
His anger turned into something uglier—fear. “You think this is funny?! I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I finally spoke, finding my voice. “Come back? Explain to the police why you drained an account meant for your children?”
