“They say you stole six hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
I almost laughed.
“Stole it from whom?”
“That’s what I asked.”
In the background, I could hear Carol screaming.
“That money belongs to our son!”
Dad continued.
“They’re demanding I tell them where you are.”
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Then pounding sounded through the phone.
My mother shouted something.
Dad said, “They’re trying the gate.”
“Call the police.”
“Already did.”
I stood and started pacing Tessa’s kitchen.
The money had been transferred as wedding gifts.
Nobody had ever described it as a loan.
Nobody had asked me to sign anything promising repayment.
But suddenly, the same family that had told me I was lucky to live beneath their roof was acting as though I had robbed a bank.
Twenty minutes later, Dad texted me that officers had arrived and ordered them away.
I thought that would end it.
