Chapter 3: Drained Accounts

The metallic smell of instant coffee and airport disinfectant hung in the air of Terminal 3. Lily was finally awake and happily gnawing on a teething cracker, oblivious to the storm brewing around us. I needed a moment to breathe, to figure out what Lucas had actually *done* beyond just spreading malicious gossip.

I pulled out my phone again, my fingers stiff, and opened my mobile banking application. My seamstress business, ‘Clara’s Creations,’ had always been a modest but steady source of income. I had been saving for years, putting aside every spare dollar.

The balance appeared on the screen. My eyes widened.

$0.00.

My personal savings account, the one I had cultivated so carefully, containing $18,400, was completely empty. It couldn’t be right. I swiped down, looking at recent transactions.

A series of transfers, all dated two weeks prior, drained the account in rapid succession. Large sums, precisely to the last cent. Each transfer was marked as “Authorized by Power of Attorney.”

My blood ran cold. Power of Attorney? I had never signed any such document. I had never even considered it.

I clicked on the details of the most recent transfer. A digital copy of a document appeared. It was my name, Clara Higgins, listed as the grantor. The signature looked convincing, almost exactly like mine. But it wasn’t mine.

Below it, Lucas Higgins was clearly named as my attorney-in-fact. The document had been notarized and filed with the Oakhaven Town Hall two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago. That was precisely when Lucas had started acting strangely, asking me vague questions about my business accounts, always insisting it was “for tax purposes.” I had waved him off, trusting him. My own son.

My hands started to shake, a tremor that ran through my entire body. He hadn’t just spread rumors. He hadn’t just used the viral photo to embarrass me.

He had stolen from me. Every single dollar I had worked for, every late night spent stitching, every early morning planning. My future, Lily’s future. All gone.

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. The bank statements, clear and irrefutable, proved it. He had carefully orchestrated this, timing it so that by the time I was flying out, my accounts would be empty. He knew I wouldn’t check them every day.

“Lily,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. My daughter looked up at me, her big, innocent eyes wide.

How could he? How could my own son, the boy I raised, betray me so completely? It wasn’t just a misunderstanding anymore. This was calculated. This was theft. This was an attack on my very ability to survive.