Chapter 4 - THE SECRET BEHIND THE VACATION
On Saturday morning, I drove to my parents' house.
I had considered calling first, but I knew how that conversation would go. Dad would insist he was busy. Mom would tell me not to upset him. Madison would probably send a message afterward explaining that everyone was under stress.
I was tired of conducting important conversations through people who wanted the problem to disappear.
Dad opened the door before I reached the porch.
"What's this about?"
"I want to talk to everyone."
He glanced toward the living room.
"Your mother is resting."
"Then we'll talk quietly."
I walked inside.
Madison was sitting on the couch, scrolling through photographs of Italian hotels. Ryan stood near the kitchen counter. Brooke wasn't there.
Mom appeared in the hallway wearing a cardigan.
"Victoria, why are you doing this to us?"
"I'm not doing anything to you. I need answers."
I placed a folder on the dining table.
Inside were the travel receipt, the transaction history, and a summary of the unauthorized charges.
Dad looked at the documents without touching them.
"This is ridiculous."
"Then it should be easy to explain."
I pointed to the first page.
"Why did you use my card for Italy when you had your own account?"
"We needed a temporary payment method."
"For $9,600?"
"Travel agencies require deposits."
"Why didn't you ask me?"
He looked at Mom.
She looked away.
I turned to Ryan.
"Did you know my card was paying for this trip?"
Ryan's jaw tightened.
"Dad handled the arrangements."
"That's not an answer."
"I didn't ask him to use your card."
"Did you know?"
He hesitated.
"Yes."
The admission hurt, but at least it was honest.
Madison put down her phone.
"Can we stop acting like this is some kind of crime? Dad said you were fine with helping."
"When did I say that?"
"Well, you always help."
I stared at her.
"Do you understand that those are different sentences?"
She folded her arms.
"You have more money than any of us."
"I earned that money."
"Nobody said you didn't."
"Then stop treating it like it belongs to everyone."
Mom sat down.
"Your father wanted to give us something wonderful. He's worked hard his entire life."
"And so have I."
The room fell silent.
For the first time, I realized how rarely I had said those words aloud.
Dad finally picked up the folder.
"Fine. You want the truth? The trip was supposed to be a family celebration. I thought I could use your card temporarily and settle the balance later."
"Why wasn't I invited?"
"Because we wanted to keep the group small."
"Five people is a small group?"
"Victoria!"
"Was the plan to invite me after I had paid for it?"
"No!"
His answer came too quickly.
I watched him.
He looked angry, but beneath the anger was something else.
Desperation.
"Who were you trying to pay back?" I asked.
Dad went still.
Mom's head snapped toward him.
"Richard?"
He ignored her.
"What makes you think I'm paying anyone back?"
"Brooke told me you mentioned another account and that you'd promised the money to someone."
Ryan looked sharply at Dad.
Madison stopped moving.
The room had changed.
I could feel it.
Whatever my father had been hiding, the other people in the room recognized the danger of it being discussed.
"Brooke shouldn't be repeating private conversations," Dad said.
"Then perhaps you should stop having private conversations about my money."
He slammed the folder onto the table.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Then explain it."
He stared at me for several seconds.
Finally, he said, "The company has been going through a difficult period."
My father had owned a small commercial renovation business for almost twenty years. It had provided a comfortable living, though never the wealth he liked to suggest he possessed.
"What kind of difficult period?"
"Late payments. A client dispute. Nothing you need to worry about."
"How much money are you short?"
"That's private."
"Not if you're using my credit card to cover it."
He rubbed his face.
"I needed to move some money around. That's all."
I thought of the second account, the scheduled charges, and the secret note on the booking.
"Did you book this trip to impress a client?"
"No."
"To secure a business deal?"
He didn't answer.
Ryan moved away from the counter.
"Maybe we should talk about this later."
I turned toward him.
"You knew something."
"I knew Dad had been stressed."
"Did you know he was using my money to cover business expenses?"
Ryan's silence was enough.
Mom looked between us.
"Richard, what is she talking about?"
Dad suddenly seemed older.
"The company owes money," he admitted. "A supplier threatened legal action. I needed to make sure we had enough available cash to keep the business running."
"And Italy?"
"It was already booked."
"That doesn't explain why my card was used."
He looked down at the folder.
"I intended to replace the money."
"With what?"
"Future payments."
I felt my stomach tighten.
My father had spent money he didn't have, used my card without permission, and expected future income to solve the problem.
"How much does the company owe?" I asked.
"That's none of your business."
"Then my card is none of your business."
He looked up sharply.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Dad said something that changed the entire conversation.
"If I lose the company, your mother could lose her house."
Mom turned pale.
I looked from one parent to the other.
Their house was paid off, or so I had always believed. Dad had often bragged about that fact whenever money became a subject of discussion.
"What do you mean, lose the house?"
He swallowed.
"The property was used as collateral for a business loan."
Mom stared at him.
"You told me that loan was secured against the company."
"It was."
"Then why are you saying the house could be lost?"
Dad didn't answer.
I realized, with a sinking feeling, that my mother might know even less about the family's finances than I did.
I closed the folder.
"I'm not giving you more money until I understand what's happening."
Dad's face hardened.
"After everything I've done for you, you're going to let your mother lose her home?"
"I'm asking for the truth."
"You want documents? Fine. I'll show you documents."
He snatched the folder from the table and walked toward his office.
But as he passed me, a sheet of paper slipped from beneath the other pages.
I picked it up.
It was a business loan statement.
The balance was $184,000.
Beside the amount, someone had written a note in blue ink.
Replacement funds expected from V.W. — June 15.
My initials.
Victoria Whitman.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
I had never agreed to provide $184,000.
I had never promised my father any money on June 15.
And yet someone had written my initials beside a financial obligation that could put my parents' home at risk.
When I looked up, Dad had stopped in the doorway.
For the first time in my life, he appeared genuinely afraid of me.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded.
May you like
I held up the paper.
"That's what I'd like to know."
