I was paying household bills on my laptop.
Nothing unusual.
Then I saw the charge.
$6,400.
Transfer.
Three days earlier.
The description simply said:
M. HART.
I checked the account balance.
The transfer had removed almost all of our cushion.
Not the rent money.
But close enough that one unexpected expense would put us in an uncomfortable position.
I assumed I had forgotten something.
“Rachel?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s this sixty-four-hundred-dollar transfer?”
Her thumb stopped moving.
That was the first warning.
She did not look surprised.
She looked irritated.
“What transfer?”
I turned the laptop slightly.
“This one.”
She glanced at it.
“Oh.”
Just that.
Oh.
“What is it?”
She put her phone down.
“I sent money to Matt.”
Matt was her younger brother.
Twenty-seven.
Smart.
Charming.
Always one business idea away from success.
In the four years I knew him, he had launched a mobile detailing company, a meal-prep service, a sneaker-resale account, and something involving cryptocurrency that I deliberately never asked enough questions to understand.
None lasted.
“What happened to Matt?”
“He needed help.”
“With what?”
“His business.”
“What business?”
“The detailing thing.”
“I thought that closed.”
“He’s restarting.”
I stared at her.
“You sent him sixty-four hundred dollars from our household account to restart a business?”
“He’s my brother.”
“I know who he is.”
“Then why are you saying it like that?”
“Because you transferred sixty-four hundred dollars without telling me.”
Her face tightened.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know, Ethan.”
“When it came up.”
“It came up.”
She rolled her eyes.
That tiny movement did more damage than the money.
“We both contribute to that account.”
“Yes.”
“So part of it is mine.”
“Part of it.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“I didn’t say you stole.”
“You’re acting like I did.”
“No.”
“I’m acting like we agreed the account was for shared expenses.”
“Matt needed help.”
“Then you could have asked me.”
“I don’t need permission to help my brother.”
There it was.
Permission.
The argument shifted.
I closed the laptop.
“This isn’t about asking permission.”
“It sounds exactly like that.”
“If I transferred sixty-four hundred dollars to Alex tomorrow without mentioning it, would you be fine with that?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because Alex actually has a job.”
I almost laughed.
“That makes it less necessary.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“I actually don't.”
Rachel stood.
She started pacing between the island and the dining table.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into a budget meeting.”
“This is six thousand four hundred dollars.”
“It’s not twelve dollars at Target.”
“He’ll pay us back.”