“Borrowed,” he said. “And emptied the account.”
I lunged for it, but he moved faster, pressing it beneath his palm. “Relax. It’s family money anyway.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Mom let out a soft laugh, like I was a child making a scene. “It was a smart decision. You’ve been hoarding money while living under this roof.”
The room seemed to turn cold. “How much did you take?”
Jason shrugged lazily. “Everything.”
With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone, opened my banking app, and felt the blood drain from my face. Savings: $0.43. Checking: $12.11. The transaction history showed withdrawal after withdrawal from two ATMs across town. Then a wire transfer. He had drained nearly $38,000.
“That was my money for graduate school,” I whispered.
Jason stood up. He was taller than me, broader, and he knew it. “Not anymore.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
Dad stood as well, folding his arms. “You’ve been staying here for almost two years. Bills, food, utilities. Your mother and I decided this evens things out.”
