My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

My work had never been glamorous, but I knew how to read a ledger, match an invoice to a payment, and notice when a number didn’t belong.

From my father’s kitchen table, with Lily’s fox beside my laptop, I began reconstructing the education account.

Gabriel warned me not to access anything unlawfully or use passwords I wasn’t authorized to use.

So I gathered records already in my possession: joint statements, account notices sent to my email, and old tax forms.

The first transfer was smaller than I remembered.

Then came another.