“Lauren said that?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“Yes,” my mom snapped. “And don’t start defending him. Not this time.”
“Defending him from what?”
“From the consequences of being spoiled,” she said. “A teenager with a credit card, Megan. What did you think would happen?”
My grip tightened on my phone.
The emergency card.
Last summer, Ethan had been stuck on a school trip when the bus broke down miles from town. No food, no help, just a teacher telling kids to “figure it out.” He’d called me from a gas station, embarrassed. I’d driven out there myself, furious at how easily people failed kids.
After that, I got him a low-limit credit card under my name. Not for shopping. For emergencies. Safety.
He’d never used it.
Until now, apparently.
“I have to go,” I said. “I’m checking this.”
“Don’t let him manipulate you,” my mom warned.
“I’ll call you back.”
I hung up and opened my banking app with cold hands.
Balance: $5,000.
Available: $0.
I stared.
Then I opened the transactions.
2:14 p.m. — electronics store — $1,200.
2:23 p.m. — same store — $1,900.
2:31 p.m. — same store — $800.
Then headphones. A smartwatch. Clothes. Food delivery. Ride shares.
All in one afternoon.