Chapter 4 - The Tuition Deadline
Friday morning arrived with grey skies and a cold Chicago drizzle.
At 8:30 a.m., the bursar’s office at St. Jude Academy officially flagged Tyler’s account as past due. The automatic tuition transfer of $3,500 for the upcoming quarter had been declined due to "account revocation."
At 9:15 a.m., I was sitting in a cozy booth at a cafe near Navy Pier, enjoying an omelet and a fresh fruit plate, when my phone rang.
It was Melissa.
I let it ring three times before sliding the green button to answer. "Hello, Melissa."
"Where the hell are you?!" Melissa screamed into the receiver, her voice so loud that the couple at the table next to me turned to look. "St. Jude just called me! They said my son cannot enter his third-period class because his tuition installment bounced! What did you do to the account?!"
"I didn't do anything to the account, Melissa," I said calmly, taking a bite of my toast. "I simply removed my debit card from your son's billing portal."
"You can't do that!" she shrieked. "He's twelve years old! You can't just ruin a child's education because you and Grant are having a fight!"
"I am not ruining his education, Melissa. You are," I replied smoothly. "You are his mother. You have lived rent-free in a high-rise condo for four years, driving a leased luxury SUV that Grant pays for, while pretending to be a 'family trust administrator.' If Tyler’s education is important to you, I suggest you pay for it yourself."
"I don't have fourteen thousand dollars!" she cried out, her tone shifting violently from anger to hysterical desperation. "You know I don't have that kind of money right now!"
"Then I suggest you ask your brother," I said. "After all, Grant is the one with the 'greater long-term potential.' He's the one who supports everyone, remember? That's what your mother said at dinner on Tuesday."
"Rachel, please!" Melissa begged, shedding real, frantic tears now. "They're going to hold him in the administrative office until the balance is cleared! He's crying, Rachel! Do you have any heart at all?!"
I set my fork down. My voice went low, razor-sharp, and ice-cold.
"Do not talk to me about heart, Melissa. You sat on my couch on Tuesday night, eating food I cooked in an apartment I helped pay for, and whispered in my husband's ear to abandon his pregnant wife. You watched him ask me for a divorce while I had an ultrasound picture in my pocket. You didn't care about my heart. You didn't care about my baby. You only cared about how much money you could wring out of Grant before I noticed."
Silence fell over the line. Melissa was breathing heavily, stunned into absolute speechlessness by the cold fury in my voice.
"Effective today," I continued, "your car insurance is canceled. Your cable is canceled. Your mother's health club membership is canceled. If you need financial assistance, call Grant. He’s your brother. He’s your problem now."
I hung up the phone before she could respond.
Ten minutes later, Grant called. I answered immediately.
"Rachel!" Grant breathed out, sounding exhausted, stressed, and completely unraveled. "Melissa just called me sobbing! She said you cut off Tyler’s tuition! Is that true?"
"It is true, Grant."
"Rachel, he’s my nephew!" Grant pleaded. "He's an innocent kid! How could you do something so cruel?!"
"Grant, if you want to pay $14,000 a year for your nephew's private school, write a check from your account," I said flatly. "Why haven't you paid it yet?"
Grant hesitated, his breathing hitching. "I... I don't have $3,500 in liquid cash right now, Rachel! My quarterly bonus doesn't hit until next month, and most of my cash is tied up in the illiquid real estate fund!"
I let out a soft, mocking laugh. "You make two hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year, Grant. And you don't have three thousand five hundred dollars to pay for the nephew you swore to protect? Where is your money going?"
Grant stayed silent. He couldn't answer. Because he knew, and I knew, that his money was tied up in secret transfers, luxury credit card payments for his sister, and high-stakes stock options he had hidden from me.
"I’ll tell you where it's going, Grant," I whispered into the phone. "It's going to fund your family's illusions. But the illusion ended on Tuesday night over the pot roast. Have a wonderful day."
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"Rachel, wait! Where are you staying?! I need to see you!"
"You'll see me soon enough, Grant," I said softly. "My attorney, Marcus Vance, is serving your office at two o'clock today. Make sure you're at your desk."
