«You’ll pay me back someday when you’re back on your feet,» she said. «Right now we have work to do.»
She requested my bank records from the past eight years. Every single statement. Every deposit. Every withdrawal.
She got our apartment lease agreements, all five of them from our different places, each one signed only by me because Brandon’s credit was terrible from student loans. She tracked down receipts I’d saved in boxes: textbooks, medical equipment, supplies, all purchased by me.
Then she found something I’d almost forgotten about.
«Grace,» she said one evening, sitting across from me at my kitchen table with her laptop open. «Do you remember Brandon’s third year of medical school? When his tuition was due and his student loan didn’t come through in time?»
I nodded slowly. That had been a terrible month. Brandon was panicking, about to lose his spot in the program.
«You took out a personal loan,» Maggie said. «$45,000 in your name only. You gave it all to Brandon for tuition and expenses. Do you still have the paperwork?»
My heart started beating faster. «I think so. In the storage closet, maybe?»