Chapter 3 - The Money That Disappeared
“That's impossible.”
I said it before I could stop myself.
Emily didn't argue.
She simply left the photograph between us.
The bucket beneath Grandma's chandelier was unmistakable.
Yellow plastic.
Bent metal handle.
I remembered that bucket from childhood.
Grandma used it when the roof leaked during thunderstorms.
The whole reason I'd sent the money was so she'd never have to worry about that room again.
Except she had died three years earlier.
And the roof was still leaking.
I opened my banking app.
My hands shook as I searched through old transfers.
February 2024.
$8,900.
Memo: Farmhouse roof repair.
June 2025.
$6,400.
Memo: Porch supports.
September 2026.
$7,100.
Memo: Electrical and water damage.
Twenty-two thousand four hundred dollars.
Every payment had gone to Mom.
She had asked for help after Steve told her the repairs were urgent.
And every time, she'd assured me the work was handled.
I turned the phone toward Emily.
She studied the amounts without speaking.
Finally, she said, “Have you ever seen a finished invoice?”
“No.”
“Photographs?”
“No.”
“An inspection report?”
I looked away.
I hated how quickly the answers made me feel foolish.
Emily reached across the table.
“Trusting your mother doesn't make you stupid.”
“But I never checked.”
“That's different from stealing the money.”
I stared at Grandma's notebook.
“Where did it go?”
“That's what we don't know yet.”
My phone buzzed again.
Jenna.
You need to delete that stupid post. People from church are asking Mom questions.
I looked at the message for several seconds.
Then I typed:
Did you know Steve told me not to come?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
This isn't about that.
I felt something hard settle in my chest.
It is to me.
She didn't respond.
Instead, Kyle called.
I answered.
“Ryan, man, you've got to listen.”
His voice sounded strained.
I remembered him sitting at the Thanksgiving table, lifting his glass while my mother laughed beside him.
“Why were you there?” I asked.
“What?”
“At my family's Thanksgiving. Why were you there when I wasn't invited?”
Silence.
Then he said, “Jenna asked me.”
“You could've called me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“About what?”
Another silence.
I felt Emily watching me.
“Kyle.”
He exhaled.
“Look, there's stuff going on with the house. Steve asked me to help with some promotional materials. Jenna was helping coordinate everything.”
“Using my drawings?”
“Ryan—”
“Did you use my drawings?”
“They were already hanging in the house.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Kyle lowered his voice.
“Steve said you'd given permission.”
I stared at the table.
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
“Then why would you believe him?”
He didn't answer.
I remembered helping Kyle move apartments three times.
Lending him my truck.
Sitting beside him in the hospital when his father had a heart attack.
Twenty years of friendship.
And he hadn't thought to send one text.
“Did you know I wasn't invited today?” I asked.
“I knew there'd been some tension.”
“What tension?”
“Steve said you were making things difficult about the property.”
I almost laughed.
“Making things difficult? Nobody told me there was a property discussion.”
“That's what I'm trying to explain.”
“Then explain it.”
He hesitated.
“Steve's been saying the repairs cost more than expected. He wants the family to agree on selling the farmhouse before the expenses get worse.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“How much does he say we owe?”
“I don't know the exact number.”
“Try.”
“Something around sixty thousand.”
I looked across at Emily.
She straightened.
“Sixty thousand?” I repeated.
Kyle sighed.
“Ryan, I don't want to get dragged into a family fight.”
“You were sitting at the table, Kyle. You're already in it.”
I ended the call.
Emily whispered, “Sixty thousand dollars?”
I nodded.
“That's what Steve claims.”
She opened her notebook.
“Grandma loaned him twenty-four thousand in 2019. He claimed it was for his construction company.”
I looked at the three transfers on my screen.
Twenty-two thousand four hundred from me.
Now another sixty thousand supposedly owed.
Something wasn't adding up.
My phone buzzed.
Mom.
Where are you?
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I wrote:
At a diner. Why didn't you invite me?
Her reply came slowly.
Steve said you told him you were going to Denver for Thanksgiving.
I never said that.
Several minutes passed.
Then:
He said you didn't want me calling because you needed space.
I closed my eyes.
That was the part that hurt.
Mom had believed him.
She hadn't called to check.
She hadn't even asked whether I was safe.
But I wasn't ready to fight her.
Not yet.
I typed:
Mom, did Steve fix the roof in 2024?
Her answer came immediately.
Of course. Why?
Because there's still a bucket under the leak.
She called.
I answered.
“Ryan, what's going on?”
“Mom, I sent you almost nine thousand dollars for that roof.”
“I know.”
“Did you pay Steve?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever see the work?”
There was a long pause.
“I saw the invoice.”
“Whose invoice?”
“I don't remember.”
“Can you find it?”
She sounded offended.
“Ryan, your uncle has handled that house for years.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“Why are you suddenly treating everybody like criminals?”
I looked at Emily.
She had heard those exact words before.
“Because I just found out the work wasn't done.”
Mom went silent.
Then she said, “I have the invoices in my filing cabinet.”
“Good. Please look.”
I waited while she moved through the house.
I heard a drawer slide open.
Papers rustled.
Then she spoke again.
“There's one for the roof.”
“Read the contractor's name.”
She hesitated.
“It's printed under a blue logo.”
My stomach sank.
“What does it say, Mom?”
She read it aloud.
“Keegan Property Services.”
Kyle's last name was Keegan.
May you like
And suddenly I understood why my best friend hadn't wanted to be dragged into this.
The invoice for my $8,900 roof repair had his company's name on it.
