Chapter 3 - The First Missing Dollar
Six months later, I noticed a forty-dollar withdrawal from my savings account.
It was a small amount, the kind many people would overlook.
I did not.
I checked the transaction history and found that the money had been transferred to an unfamiliar digital wallet.
The bank reversed it immediately. Their fraud department told me the transaction might have been a test.
Fraudsters sometimes moved a small amount first to determine whether an account was active and whether the owner noticed.
I changed my passwords, added additional verification, and placed restrictions on external transfers.
I also removed my father as an emergency contact.
I had listed him years earlier, before Vivian, before the business problems, before every conversation became a negotiation.
I did not accuse him.
At that point, I still did not believe he would steal from me.
But I called and told him about the incident.
“A test transfer?” he repeated.
“That’s what the bank thinks.”
“Do they know who did it?”
“Not yet.”
There was a pause.
Then he asked, “How much money is in that account now?”
The question chilled me.
“Why?”
“I’m trying to understand why someone would target it.”
“They would need to know it exists.”
Another pause.
“Maybe your financial adviser said something.”
“He didn’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can.”
Vivian’s voice sounded in the background. “Who is it?”
My father lowered his voice.
“Elena, I should go.”
“Did you tell Vivian the exact balance?”
“No.”
“Did you show her any statements?”
“No.”
“Did she ever use your computer while you were looking at my financial information?”
His breathing changed.
It was subtle, but I heard it.
“I don’t remember.”
“That is not an answer.”
“You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”
“What is it, then?”
“A random fraudulent charge.”
“Transfer.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t a charge. It was a transfer into a digital wallet.”
He became irritated. “I don’t understand all this technology.”
Perhaps he did not.
Vivian did.
Before marrying my father, she had worked as an office administrator for a financial services company. She knew forms, verification processes, and account language.
I called the bank again and requested a full investigation.
Then I hired Daniel Price.
Daniel had served in the Army before becoming an attorney. We met through a veterans’ legal organization, where he occasionally volunteered. He was calm, exact, and almost impossible to intimidate.
When I explained the situation, he did not rush to conclusions.
“Do you have evidence connecting your family to the transfer?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do they have access to your personal information?”
“My father knows my Social Security number, birth date, and previous addresses. He also has copies of some old military documents.”
“Does Vivian?”
“Anything my father has, she probably has.”
Daniel made notes.
“Have you ever signed a power of attorney naming either of them?”
“No.”
“Any authorization allowing them to communicate with your bank?”
“No.”
“Have you received unusual mail?”
I thought for a moment.
“A letter arrived two months ago confirming an address change, but I assumed it was an error. The address had been changed to my father’s house.”
Daniel stopped writing.
“Did you request that change?”
“No.”
“Did you report it?”
“I corrected it online.”
He set down his pen.
“We need to contact the bank’s legal department, not customer service.”
The next morning, Daniel sent a preservation notice requesting that the bank retain all records connected to my account, including call recordings, online activity, submitted forms, identification documents, and surveillance footage.
The bank responded faster than expected.
Someone had contacted them three times.
The caller claimed to be assisting me during an overseas assignment.
They possessed enough personal information to pass several initial security questions.
They had also requested forms for adding an authorized account manager.
The forms had not yet been approved.
The forty-dollar transfer had come from a linked service created using an email address containing Vivian’s maiden name.
It was not proof that she personally created it.
But it was no longer random.
I called my father again.
This time, I did not mention the email address.
“Has Vivian ever tried to access my savings account?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Someone contacted the bank claiming to represent me.”
“That could be anyone.”
“They changed the mailing address to your house.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“If you know something, tell me now.”
“I said I don’t.”
Behind him, I heard paper being moved.
Then Vivian’s voice, sharp and close to the phone.
“Stop interrogating your father.”
The call ended.
Daniel listened when I told him what happened.
May you like
“You gave him a chance,” he said.
“I don’t think he understood it was his last one.”
