Chapter 5 - The Money TrailNaomi followed the money and discovered that her brother's failed business was only the visible part of the story.
The next morning, I went through every bank statement I had.
For three years, I had treated my contributions as ordinary family support.
Five hundred dollars here.
Two thousand there.
A furnace bill.
A tax payment.
A plumbing emergency.
I never tracked the total because I didn't want to become that person.
The person who said, “Look what I did for you.”
Now I regretted that.
Not because I wanted repayment.
Because I needed the truth.
I created a spreadsheet.
Date.
Amount.
Purpose.
Recipient.
Supporting document.
When I finished, the number shocked me.
$61,780.
That was what I had contributed directly to the household over three years.
Not groceries.
Not my room.
Not normal living costs.
Major expenses.
Things that preserved the property.
Sophie reviewed the spreadsheet.
“You need to verify every transfer.”
“I will.”
She pointed to several payments.
“These ones. What are they?”
“I don't know.”
There were three transactions.
$4,800.
$7,500.
$12,000.
All transferred to an account I didn't recognize.
The reference field said:
HOUSE EXPENSES.
I checked my old messages with Mom.
The $12,000 transfer had occurred two days after she told me the roof needed urgent replacement.
But I had never seen a roofing company invoice.
I searched the shared email.
Nothing.
“That's strange.”
Sophie nodded.
“Very.”
I called the bank.
They confirmed the account number belonged to a company.
The company name was different from Derek's.
But when I looked up the registered address, it was Derek's old business office.
I felt sick.
“How many payments?”
Sophie looked over the spreadsheet.
“Three known ones.”
“And all from me?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the screen.
“Why would Mom tell me it was for house repairs?”
“Because you probably wouldn't have transferred money otherwise.”
I closed my eyes.
Every memory I had of helping my family was turning into something else.
Then Sophie noticed another pattern.
“Look at the dates.”
I did.
The three transfers occurred immediately before major deposits into Derek's business account.
The money was leaving my account.
Entering my parents' account.
Then moving into Derek's company.
I whispered:
“They recycled it.”
Sophie shook her head.
“We need proof before calling it that.”
I checked my mother's messages.
There it was.
A text from the morning of one transfer.
“Please send the money today. The contractor won't start without it.”
I had done exactly that.
There was no contractor.
There was only Derek.
My hands were shaking.
Sophie said:
“Naomi, you need to protect yourself now.”
“I am.”
“No.”
She looked at me seriously.
“I mean legally.”
She explained that I needed independent records.
Bank statements.
Tax forms.
Copies of documents.
Any communication showing why I made payments.
Then she asked:
“Did you ever sign anything stating those payments were gifts?”
“No.”
“Did your parents ever ask you to?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked down.
“Could I sue them?”
“You could explore options.”
“But should I?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you still don't know the whole story.”
She was right.
I had one missing piece.
Why was someone warning me?
That night, another anonymous email arrived.
You are looking at the wrong account.
Underneath was a screenshot.
It showed a bank transfer from Derek's company into a personal account.
The recipient name was partially hidden.
Only the initials were visible.
N.C.
My initials.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Sophie zoomed in.
The account number was unfamiliar.
But the initials matched mine.
“I never opened that account.”
She looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Check your credit report.”
I did.
My credit report showed a new account.
A personal loan.
$38,000.
Opened nine months earlier.
I nearly dropped my phone.
“That's not mine.”
Sophie stood up.
“Then someone may have used your identity.”
I stared at the screen.
The account was current.
Payments had been made on time.
Someone was paying it.
Which meant someone had needed the loan to look legitimate.
I opened the account details.
The address listed was my parents' house.
The phone number belonged to my mother.
The email address belonged to the shared household account.
I looked at Sophie.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
For the first time, I understood why my family wanted me out of the house so badly.
They hadn't just been using my money.
May you like
They may have been using my name.
And if that was true, being called a parasite was the least cruel thing they had done to me.
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