Chapter 4: Someone Was Trying to Empty My Account
I called the bank before I called my daughter again.
My hands were shaking so badly that I entered my password incorrectly twice. When the customer service representative finally answered, I stood beside the kitchen window, staring at the driveway as though Nia might somehow appear there and explain everything.
“Thank you for calling Peach State Community Bank. My name is Angela. How can I help you today?””
“My name is Marcus Reed. I just received an alert that somebody tried to access my online banking account.””
“All right, Mr. Reed. I can help you with that. Have you shared your login credentials with anyone recently?””
“No.””
The answer came automatically.
Then I remembered Nia standing in my kitchen last month while I paid a bill on my laptop. She had asked me how I managed all the payments for her grandmother. I'd shown her the hospital portal, explained the due dates, and opened my banking app to calculate what I could afford.
She hadn't needed my password then.
But she'd been watching.
“Sir?”” Angela prompted.
“I haven't intentionally shared my password,” I corrected.
“My daughter knows some of my financial information. She recently transferred money out of an account without my permission.””
The representative's tone changed.
“I'm sorry to hear that. Is your daughter an authorized user on the account?””
“No.””
“Has she ever been authorized to access your online banking?””
“No.””
“All right. I'm going to place a temporary security restriction on your online access while we review the attempted login. I also recommend that we freeze any affected payment methods and change your credentials from a secure device.””
“Can you tell me whether anyone got in?””
“I'm checking that now.””
I pressed my free hand against the windowsill.
Outside, a neighbor carried two grocery bags up his front steps. A child rode a bicycle past my driveway. The world continued as though my family hadn't just begun falling apart.
Angela returned.
“The login attempt was blocked. We don't currently see a completed transfer associated with that attempt. However, I do see the earlier transfer you reported.””
“Can you tell me where that money went?””
“I can confirm the receiving account information available to us, but I can't determine the recipient's intentions. If you believe the transfer was unauthorized, I can begin a fraud review.””
“Please do that.””
“I'll also need to explain that recovery isn't guaranteed. The outcome depends on how the transaction was authorized, the available evidence, and the receiving institution's response.””
“I understand.””
I didn't understand anything anymore.
I gave her the transaction reference number and answered every question she asked. When we finished, she issued a case number and instructed me to secure my email account as well.
Before ending the call, I asked one final question.
“Angela, if someone has my banking information, what should I do next?””
“Change your passwords, enable additional authentication, and don't approve any unexpected verification requests. If you believe someone is deliberately accessing your account, document every alert and consider reporting the incident to the appropriate authorities.””
“Thank you.””
I hung up and immediately changed my banking password.
Then I changed my email password.
I reviewed my recent account activity, checked my saved devices, and disabled the access I didn't recognize.
When I finally put my phone down, the kitchen clock read 3:47 p.m.
My mother's surgical coordinator had said the payment arrangement needed attention.
My daughter was somewhere with a man who'd told her to stop talking to me.
And somebody had tried to get into my bank account.
I walked into the living room and sat beside the coffee table.
For the first time that afternoon, I let myself consider a possibility I'd been fighting since Nia first said Terrence's name.
What if he hadn't simply persuaded her to bail him out?
What if the bail money had been only the beginning?
My phone rang.
Nia's name appeared on the screen.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?””
“Dad, please don't yell at me.””
“I'm not yelling. Where are you?””
She was crying. I could hear traffic behind her, along with the muffled sound of a television or radio.
“I'm at a motel.””
“Which motel?””
“On Memorial Drive.””
“What's the name?””
“I don't know. The sign says something about a lodge.””
I rubbed my forehead.
“Are you alone?””
“Yes.””
I didn't believe her, but I couldn't prove she was lying.
“Did you try to access my bank account?””
Silence.
“Nia?””
“I didn't mean for that to happen.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did you try to access my bank account?””
“Terrence said we needed to check whether the transfer had gone through.””
I rose from the sofa.
“You used my banking information?””
“He wanted to see if the money was still available!””
“What money? You already transferred it!””
“He said the first payment might not have covered everything.””
I stared at the wall.
The eight thousand four hundred dollars had been sent to a recipient whose identity she claimed not to know, and now Terrence wanted more.
“Did you give him my password?””
“He was standing beside me when I logged in.””
“Did you approve the security notification?””
“No. It didn't let us in.””
I closed my eyes.
“Listen carefully. You do not touch my accounts again. You do not share my information with Terrence. And if he has copies of any of my documents, you tell me now.””
“Dad, he's not trying to hurt you.””
“Then why is he trying to access my bank account?””
“He says he's trying to fix things.””
“By taking more money?””
She began sobbing.
“I don't know what to do!””
For a moment, I heard the little girl who used to call me from her bedroom whenever thunder shook the windows.
I wanted to go find her.
But I couldn't let that instinct erase what had happened.
“First, you tell me the truth,” I said.
“Did Terrence ask you to take Grandma's money before he was arrested?””
“No.””
“Did he know how much I had saved?””
“Yes.””
“Did he tell you who should receive the transfer?””
“He gave me the account details.””
“Then you do know where the money went.””
“I know the name on the account.””
“What name?””
She hesitated.
“Darius Bell.””
I wrote it down.
“Who is Darius Bell?””
“I don't know. Terrence said he was helping with the bail.””
“Did you verify that with the court?””
“No.””
“Did you speak to a lawyer?””
“No.””
“Did you get a receipt?””
She whispered, “No.””
I gripped the pen until my fingers hurt.
“Nia, you sent thousands of dollars to a stranger because your boyfriend told you to?””
“He said it was urgent!””
“And now he's asking for more?””
She didn't answer.
I heard a door close somewhere near her.
Then a man's voice called her name.
Her breathing changed.
“Dad, I have to go.””
“Wait. Is Terrence there?””
“No.””
The answer was too fast.
“Nia, listen to me. If you're uncomfortable or someone is pressuring you, you can leave. You can go somewhere public. You can call me for help getting somewhere safe.””
“I can't.””
“Why not?””
“Because you kicked me out!””
The accusation cut through me.
I stared at the open space beside the front door.
“I told you to leave because you took your grandmother's surgery money,” I said.
“I didn't tell you to put yourself in danger.””
“You said it wasn't your problem.””
I swallowed.
“I said your choice was yours to make. I should have made it clearer that I still care whether you're safe.””
She cried quietly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “He says you don't care about me anymore.””
I shut my eyes.
“Terrence doesn't get to decide how much I love you.””
“He says you're only worried about Grandma's money.””
“I'm worried about your grandmother. I'm worried about you. And I'm worried that somebody is using you to get access to money that doesn't belong to them.””
A heavy silence followed.
Then Nia said something that made the hair rise on my arms.
“Dad, what if I can't get the money back?””
“Then we'll deal with that honestly. But you have to stop sending anything else.””
“I didn't send anything else.””
“Good. Keep it that way.””
She took a shaky breath.
“Can I come home?””
I looked at the hospital papers.
Part of me wanted to say yes immediately.
But the last time she'd been in my house, she'd lied to my face, defended Terrence, and walked out believing I would eventually rescue her from the consequences.
I needed to know she understood what had happened.
“You can come somewhere safe,” I said.
“But we need to talk about everything. And you cannot bring Terrence into my house.””
“He won't come.””
“Are you sure?””
“Yes.””
I wasn't convinced.
“Send me the motel's exact address. I'll arrange a ride to a public place where we can talk.””
“Okay.””
“And Nia?””
“Yeah?””
“Don't give him any more money. Don't give him my passwords. Don't sign anything he puts in front of you.””
“I won't.””
The call ended.
I sat down and waited for the address.
It arrived three minutes later.
I opened a map on my phone, checked the motel's name, and arranged a ride for her to a nearby coffee shop. I told her to wait inside the lobby until it arrived.
Then I called the hospital again.
I explained the bank issue and asked whether there was any way to preserve my mother's place in the surgical schedule while I worked through the financial problem.
The coordinator said she'd note the situation and discuss possible arrangements with the billing department. She couldn't promise an extension, but she assured me that my mother's care team would review the circumstances.
I thanked her and hung up.
It wasn't a solution.
But it was something.
At 4:26 p.m., Nia sent a message.
The ride is here.
I replied that I'd meet her at the coffee shop.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
It showed a folded document on a motel bed, partly covered by a man's hand.
I enlarged the image.
The document appeared to be a payment authorization form.
My mother's name was printed near the top.
Below it was a line for the person responsible for the account.
And beside that line, in handwriting I recognized as my daughter's, was the name Nia Reed.
At the bottom of the page was a signature.
It wasn't mine.
But whoever had signed it had attempted to make it look like mine.
I stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed.
Then I called my daughter.
She answered on the first ring.
“Dad?””
“Where did this document come from?””
I heard her breathing.
Then, in a tiny voice, she said, “Terrence brought it.””
“Why does it have my signature?””
“He said it was just a copy for the hospital.””
“Nia, that's not my signature.””
“I know.””
The room seemed to grow colder.
I looked at the photograph again.
“Did you sign this?””
“No.””
“Did you watch Terrence sign it?””
She began to cry.
“No, Dad. I swear I didn't.””
I believed she was frightened.
I still didn't know whether I believed everything else.
“Bring the document with you,” I said.
“Don't give it to Terrence. Don't alter it. We'll take it to the proper people and find out what happened.””
She whispered, “Okay.””
Before I could say anything else, the line crackled.
Then she said, “Dad, there's something written on the back.””
“What?””
Her breathing became uneven.
“I didn't notice it before.””
“Read it to me.””
A few seconds passed.
Then she whispered the words.
*“Second payment due before release.””*
I stared at the screen.
Terrence hadn't simply asked my daughter to rescue him.
May you like
Someone had prepared paperwork suggesting there was another payment to make.
And my mother's name was on it.