Then I opened another folder.
“I think we should talk about the card too.”
My mother’s head snapped up.
Shane went still.
Misty looked at him.
I placed the bank statements on the table.
“Someone has been using Mom’s card.”
My mother whispered:
“Michelle…”
“Not me.”
Shane stared at the papers.
I turned one page.
“Gas station.”
Another.
“Hardware store.”
Another.
“Children’s clothing.”
Another.
“Medical clinic.”
Then I looked directly at him.
“All within a few miles of your house.”
No one spoke.
The pastor slowly sat down.
Misty’s face went pale.
Shane pushed his chair back.
“You went through Mom’s private records?”
“No.”
I looked at my mother.
“Mom showed them to me.”
She hadn’t.
But she could have.
And Shane knew it.
“That’s a lie.”
“Is it?”
I slid the final statement across the table.
There was a charge from the previous week.
The exact day my mother claimed her card had been declined.
A gas station.
Then another charge.
A restaurant.
Then one for $1,800.
I looked at my mother.
“Who has your card?”
She didn’t answer.
Shane stood.
“We’re not doing this.”
“Sit down.”
He stared at me.
I had never spoken to him that way before.
He slowly sat.
Then I pulled out one final document.
The title company’s notice.
“Your transfer application has been flagged.”
Shane’s face drained.
“Flagged?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
“The title company.”
“Why?”
“Because you attempted to transfer property you don’t own.”
He looked at my mother.
She looked terrified.
And then, for the first time, Shane said something I had never heard from him.
“Mom, what did you do?”
My mother began to cry.
But before she could answer, someone knocked on the front door.
Three times.
Everyone turned.
I walked over and opened it.
Daniel Reeves stood on the porch.
Beside him was Ms. Farrow from the title company.
Shane’s face went completely white.
Daniel looked at me.
“Michelle, we need to talk.”
Then he glanced at everyone gathered around the kitchen table.
“Preferably before anyone signs anything.”
I stepped aside.
They entered.
And as the door closed behind them, I realized something.
My mother had spent nine years convincing everyone that I was the person who owed this family something.
But tomorrow, the question would no longer be what I owed.
It would be what they owed me.
And the answer was about to become much bigger than the house.
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