Chapter 7 - The AuditDad’s sudden awakening did not stop at the dinner table.
The following evening, Dad called a mandatory meeting at his house. This time, Briana and Chase were required to attend. I came along at Dad’s explicit request, sitting on the far end of the sofa beside Tessa, who had come along to offer "emotional moral support" (and consume more dramatic fallout).
Briana sat on the loveseat, clutching a designer handbag to her chest like a shield. Chase sat beside her, staring at his sneakers.
Dad sat at the head of the dining table with a thick black accordion folder filled with financial documents.
“Alright,” Dad began, adjusting his reading glasses. “Since everybody in this family seems to think money grows on trees behind the garage, we are going to do a full review of Briana’s finances.”
Briana gasped. “Dad! I’m twenty-six years old! You can’t audit me!”
“You live in a twenty-six-hundred-dollar apartment that you furnished with your sister’s stolen line of credit,” Dad said, his voice cold and steady. “As long as you expect this family to bail you out, you are subject to an audit.”
He opened the folder, pulling out a printout of Briana’s bank statements—which Mom had secretly provided from their joint account history.
“Item one,” Dad read. “You make eight hundred dollars a month doing social media for a yoga studio.”
“It’s part-time!” Briana protested. “I’m building my portfolio!”
“Item two,” Dad continued, ignoring her. “Chase makes eighteen hundred dollars a month selling gym memberships. Total monthly household income: two thousand six hundred dollars.”
Dad looked up over his glasses. “Your rent is two thousand six hundred dollars. That leaves exactly zero dollars for food, utilities, car payments, insurance, or five-dollar oat milk lattes.”
Chase cleared his throat nervously. “Sir, I’m expecting a big commission check next month—”
“You’ve been expecting a big commission check since Thanksgiving, Chase,” Dad cut him off flatly. “Item three: Your mother has been secretly writing you a check for twelve hundred dollars every month out of our retirement savings to cover your rent shortfall.”
Briana’s head snapped toward Mom. Mom shrank back into her chair, looking down at her lap.
I sat up straight on the sofa. “What?”
Dad looked at me, his jaw set in a hard line. “Your mother has been draining our emergency fund for six months to pay Briana’s rent, Sylvia. I only found out yesterday when I went to the bank to check on that personal loan.”
The room went completely quiet.
The truth lay bare on the table. It wasn't just that Briana was spoiled; it was that my mother had created a systematic ecosystem of financial deception to protect Briana from the reality of her own choices.
“Mom...” I said softly, staring at her in disbelief. “You’re sixty-two years old. Dad’s retiring in three years. You spent your retirement savings so Briana could live in a luxury building?”
“She needed a nice place!” Mom wept, pulling a tissue from her sleeve. “She’s sensitive! She can’t live in a rundown place like the one you had when you were twenty-two!”
“My first apartment cost six hundred dollars a month!” I yelled. “I worked two jobs! I ate ramen! And I survived!”
“And look how bitter it made you!” Mom shrieked back.
Dad slammed his folder shut with a sound like a pistol shot.
“Effective today,” Dad declared, standing up from the table, “the twelve-hundred-dollar monthly check stops. The joint bank account is closed. And if you two cannot afford your lease, you will break it, pay the penalty out of your own pockets, and find an apartment you can actually pay for.”
May you like
Briana burst into full, hysterical tears, burying her face in Chase’s shoulder. “You’re destroying my life! All of you!”
“No, Briana,” Dad said gently, walking over and placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re finally letting you grow up.”
