Chapter 3 - The Panic in Columbus
Back in Columbus, Ohio, the panic was reaching a boiling point.
Jason Parker stood in the middle of the guest room, staring in absolute disbelief at the bare mattress and empty closet. The hangers were gone. The quilt Robert’s mother had stitched by hand was gone. Even the framed photograph of Jason graduating from Ohio State University had been unceremoniously removed from the nightstand.
"What do you mean she’s not answering?" Natalie shrieked from the hallway, her voice pitching up in frantic disbelief as she marched into the room. "The contractor, Mr. Henderson, is sitting downstairs at our kitchen island waiting for the deposit check! He said mobilization starts on Wednesday, and if we don't wire the $35,000 down payment today, the entire project is delayed by six months!"
Jason grabbed his hair with both hands, his face pale and slick with sudden sweat. "She's not picking up, Nat! I tried calling her cell four times, and it’s going straight to voicemail. Even worse... I tried calling her mobile provider, and the number has been completely disconnected!"
Natalie’s jaw dropped. Her carefully applied makeup suddenly looked harsh under the recessed lighting. "Disconnected? What do you mean disconnected? Did she lose her phone?"
"No!" Jason snapped, panic finally piercing through his denial. "People don't just disconnect their phones by accident. Look around! Her clothes are gone, her toiletries are gone, and look at this on the kitchen counter!"
Jason thrust the index card into Natalie’s hands. She snatched it away, her eyes scanning the handwritten words twice before the reality finally landed with a sickening thud.
You told me to find somewhere else to go. I did.
"That ungrateful old bitch," Natalie hissed, her face contorting into genuine venom. "She’s throwing a temper tantrum because we asked her to contribute a tiny fraction of her multi-hundred-thousand-dollar savings to the house she lives in rent-free! Where could she possibly go? She has no friends outside of our neighborhood, and she doesn't even drive on the highway!"
"I don't know where she went!" Jason shouted, slamming his fist against the empty closet door. "Maybe she went to stay at one of her church friends' houses. Let's check her bank accounts—she must have left her laptop or her checkbook somewhere in the house, or we can look at her online banking on your iPad if she ever logged in..."
Natalie’s eyes lit up with predatory hope. "Yes! Of course! Check her desktop computer in the study. She always left her browser open!"
Within seconds, they were both hovering over the wooden desk in the downstairs study. Jason frantically clicked on Google Chrome, clicking the autofill credentials for Evelyn’s primary bank—the National Bank of Columbus.
He entered the username. He entered the password saved in the browser cache.
The screen flashed blue, loading the dashboard.
Jason froze. Natalie leaned in, squinting at the monitor.
Account Balance: $14.22.
Jason blinked, rubbing his eyes as if the numbers would magically change. "Wait... that's impossible. Last month she showed me her quarterly statement—she had over two hundred and eighty thousand dollars in CDs and high-yield savings!"
Natalie grabbed the mouse from his trembling hand, clicking frantically through the tabs. She clicked on 'Account History.'
Every single cent had been wiped out. Three days ago—immediately following the Thanksgiving dinner argument—a massive outgoing wire transfer of $286,398.28 had been executed, moving the entire balance out of the National Bank of Columbus and into an external, unlinked institution.
The room seemed to spin around them.
"She... she took it all," Natalie whispered, her voice dropping to a hollow, terrified whisper. "She cleaned us out."
"No," Jason muttered, stumbling backward until his legs hit the edge of the desk. "No, no, no. That money... that money was supposed to pay for the kitchen. We... we already signed the contractor agreement! We signed a legally binding contract with Mr. Henderson this morning with a $15,000 liquidated damages clause if we breach before work commences!"
As if summoned by their sheer terror, the study door swung open. Mr. Henderson, a burly contractor in a plaid flannel shirt holding a leather briefcase, stood in the doorway with an expectant smile.
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"Well, folks?" Mr. Henderson boomed cheerfully. "Got that routing number ready? My crew is ready to roll in truck rentals by Wednesday morning. Let's get this kitchen demo started!"
Jason and Natalie stared at the contractor, their faces draining of all color, realizing that their dream kitchen—and perhaps their entire financial stability—had just vanished into thin air.
