Chapter 2 - The Stolen Allowance
My father, Richard Parker, lunged forward to grab my mother's arm, his fingers digging hard into her cardigan.
"Diane, stop talking right now," he hissed, his face mottled red under the television cameras.
The local news crew Mr. Greer had invited moved closer, the boom microphone hovering directly over the rose bushes.
"I have something else for you to verify, Sheriff," I said, stepping forward in my polished black dress shoes.
I reached inside the inner breast pocket of my uniform jacket and pulled out a second stack of documents sealed in clear plastic.
"Before I shipped out four years ago, I established an automatic allotments account through the Defense Finance and Accounting Service."
The sheriff took the bank statements, skimming the bold black figures printed on every monthly statement.
"Seven hundred dollars every single pay period, wired directly into a custodial trust for my college tuition and emergency home repairs," I continued.
"Totaling nearly thirty-four thousand dollars withdrawn over forty-eight months."
Sheriff Vance flipped to the authorized signature card attached to the back of the packet.
"Mrs. Parker," Vance said, his voice dropping into a dangerous baritone.
"These withdrawals were processed under an affidavit claiming the service member was incapacitated."
Mrs. Higgins, who lived across the street and had organized our neighborhood bake sales for twenty years, gasped aloud.
"Diane, you told the women's auxiliary committee that Emily was in a maximum-security psychiatric ward!"
"You accepted three thousand dollars from the church benevolent fund last Christmas to pay for her prison legal appeals!"
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Diane opened her mouth, but only a strangled, breathless squeak escaped her throat.
The crowd erupted into furious murmurs, and for the first time in my life, nobody was looking at my mother with sympathy.
