Where the Money Went
The next morning I called Sienna Price, my college roommate who worked in financial compliance. She helped me pull five years of statements. Every deposit I made vanished within twenty‑four hours — some to the mortgage, much to luxury shops, restaurants, trips, and a new SUV registered to Taryn. Over five years, I’d sent more than $120,000.
Russell had also opened credit cards using forged copies of my signature. And the house — worth about $650,000 — was listed only in his name.
“This wasn’t carelessness,” Sienna said. “This was planned.”
I drove to the house in Ballantyne and parked down the street. There it was — the pale brick, the wide porch. Taryn stepped out in an expensive coat, followed by Russell’s mother Donna, both carrying shopping bags. Russell joined them, laughing at his phone — then called me.
“Hey, sweetheart — just helping your dad with repairs. When’s your next transfer?”
I watched him from the car. “Soon,” I said. It was the first lie I’d ever told him — and the last time he’d hear weakness in my voice.
