Chapter 4 - Pancakes and Power of AttorneyWhen I walked into the kitchen at 7:30 AM, Mom was flipping pancakes at the stove while Dad sat at the dining table reading the morning sports section.
“Morning, Ryan,” Mom said, her tone much sweeter than it had been last night, clearly attempting to smooth over yesterday’s confrontation before it festered. “Did you sleep okay down in the basement? I know it’s a bit drafty, but Chloe really needs the upstairs space right now.”
“I slept fine,” I said neutrally, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from my father.
Dad didn't look up from his newspaper, though he took a sip of his coffee. “Good. Glad to see you’re getting over your little temper tantrum. Being in the military makes you guys too rigid. Real life requires compromise.”
“Yeah, compromise,” I muttered, reaching for a cup of black coffee.
Chloe waddled into the kitchen a minute later, wearing an oversized silk bathrobe, looking excessively pleased with herself. She poured a large glass of orange juice and dropped heavily into the chair next to me.
“Ugh, my back is killing me,” Chloe sighed, rubbing her lower back. “Living here is such a relief though. Vance and I were drowning rent-wise before Mom and Dad suggested we move into your empty rooms. Honestly, Ry, you should thank us. A big house like this needs life in it, not just a bunch of ghost furniture while you’re off playing GI Joe.”
I looked at her, keeping my expression entirely smooth. “Glad I could provide, Chloe.”
Mom dropped a plate of pancakes in front of me with a triumphant smile. “See? Everyone wins. By the way, Ryan, since you’re back and have some leave saved up, your father and I were looking at your financial portfolio management account. We noticed a couple of scheduled auto-transfers for your savings that we needed to adjust for family tax purposes while you were away.”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. “Tax purposes?”
“Yes, well, managing your accounts via the Power of Attorney required some clever maneuvering,” Mom said casually, flipping another pancake. “Your father and I had to transfer a portion of your liquid reserves into our holding account temporarily to cover some household property tax assessments. We’ll square it all away eventually, of course.”
“Of course,” I echoed softly.
Dad finally lowered his newspaper, peering at me over his reading glasses with a condescending smirk. “In fact, your mother needs to run down to the credit union branch on Main Street this morning to authorize the monthly disbursement clearing. Since you’re home, why don’t you drive her down there and sign the official release forms in person so the bank auditors stop sniffing around our joint filings?”
There it was. The trap they had set for themselves.
They hadn't just stolen $45,000 while I was deployed; they were actively trying to force my active in-person compliance to legitimize their ongoing theft.
I took a slow bite of pancake, chewed deliberately, and swallowed before looking straight at my mother.
May you like
“Sure, Mom,” I said calmly. “Let’s go to the credit union together right now.”
Mom beamed, clapping her hands together. “Oh, wonderful! See, Robert? I told you he’d be reasonable once he had a good night's sleep. Family always works it out.”
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