Chapter 3 - THE MONEY INSIDE THE WEDDING
Megan called the bank while Ryan paced between the windows and the kitchen.
The representative could not discuss Harbor Ridge’s ownership, but she confirmed the transfer into the joint account had been initiated by an external business account. Ryan had been the person who linked it.
Twenty-seven thousand dollars remained.
Megan instructed the bank to freeze outgoing transfers until both account holders appeared in person.
Ryan stopped pacing. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“The venue balance is due Monday.”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding payment Monday.”
Linda stood abruptly. “You don’t get to punish me by throwing away my money.”
Megan turned toward her. “You slapped me in my home because your son lied to both of us. Don’t call yourself the victim yet.”
The words landed harder than Megan expected. Linda looked toward Ryan, waiting for him to defend her.
He didn’t.
He was typing rapidly on his phone.
Megan asked who he was contacting. Ryan said his attorney. Then he corrected himself and said a loan officer.
That small correction stayed with her.
Megan called the building manager and asked him to deactivate Ryan’s resident access until further notice. Ryan stared at her as though she had become unreasonable.
“My clothes are here.”
“You can schedule a supervised pickup.”
“I live here.”
“You lived here because I trusted you.”
He lowered his voice. “You’re making decisions while you’re angry.”
Megan touched the swelling in her cheek. “I’m making decisions while I can still see the floor you planned to damage.”
Linda flinched at the word planned.
Megan noticed.
She asked what was inside the cardboard box. Linda stepped in front of it.
Ryan said it was household paperwork. Megan pulled the box toward herself before either of them could stop her.
Inside were utility bills bearing Linda’s name and Megan’s address.
There were also paint samples, flooring estimates, and unopened mail from Beacon Home Lending. None of it was addressed to Megan.
Ryan said the documents were only preliminary.
Megan held up a gas bill dated three months earlier.
Linda had never lived in Boston. She owned a small house in Plymouth and complained whenever she had to drive north of Quincy.
“Why is your mother receiving utilities at my address?”
Ryan glanced at Linda.
Linda looked down at her muddy boots.
Megan called Beacon Home Lending and asked for its fraud department.
Ryan’s face changed then. The defensiveness disappeared.
Real fear replaced it.
“Megan,” he said, “once you make that call, you can’t take it back.”
May you like
She pressed the phone to her ear.
“That’s why I’m making it.”
