Page 71 of The Coffee Bar on Camellia Court

"I understand how distressing this is," the representative said, her voice taking on that practiced sympathy that call center workers perfected. "However, since the transfers were made using your authorized credentials, this would be classified as account compromise rather than system fraud. You'll need to file a police report and work with your bank."

After ending that call, Juno immediately contacted her bank. The conversation followed a similar pattern—initial concern followed by the revelation that the situation was complicated by the fact that the transactions had been properly authenticated. The bank's fraud specialist explained that they would investigate, but recovery of the funds was unlikely if they had already been withdrawn from PayQuick.

Like the PayQuick rep, her bank’s fraud specialist also advised her to file a report with the police immediately. "We'll need that report number to proceed with our own investigation."

Juno agreed numbly and hung up. Filing a police report meant publicly acknowledging what her father had done. It meant everyone would know how foolish she'd been.

She sank onto her couch, mind racing. How had he gotten her banking information? The password to her accounts wasn't written down anywhere, and she was always mindful of where her phone was at all times.

Mindful, maybe, but that didn’t mean she necessarily kept the thing in sight around the clock.

She suddenly remembered the other day when her father had intercepted her coming out of the supply closet. He had her phone in his hand. He'd seemed surprised to see her, but then handed her the device.

"You might want to keep a better eye on this," he'd told her. "I found it on the shelf over the sink."

She often set it there when washing dishes so she could see if any important texts or calls came in. That day, she’d been summoned to the front to talk to a customer about a catering order, opting to leave the phone behind since she planned to return to finish her load of dishes.

She’d thanked her father for looking out for her and thought nothing more of it.

And then there was the day he'd come bustling out the backdoor to help her unload her trunk of an emergency supply run. He’d gone out to her car for the last load and had returned with her purse along with the box of milk cartons he was carrying. "Don't want this walking off," he'd said, holding it up so she could see. “You left it in your front seat.” He'd made a show of tucking it safely under her desk in her tiny office space just off the kitchen. Something about the way he’d behaved had sounded the alarms, but when she checked the contents of her bag, she found everything in place, and had been greatly relieved that her initial suspicion had been unfounded.

But he wouldn't have needed to take anything, would he? Just a quick glance at her driver's license for personal information, a photo of her bank card for the account numbers. And he'd probably watched her tap in her phone’s security code to open it up. With that code, he'd have been able to sign onto it and then reset her banking password so that he could access her accounts and have his way with her money.

It had all been a calculated game.

Juno dialed the Sleepy Time Motel, already knowing what they would tell her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Thomas," the front desk clerk confirmed, "but Mr. Thomas checked out yesterday evening around six."

Of course he had. He'd probably been planning his exit for days, waiting for the right moment.

Juno hung up and stared at the wall. More than forty thousand dollars was just gone. Money she'd been saving for years, setting aside little by little from her profits.

From what she’d gathered, unless she filed that police report, there was little likelihood of her ever seeing her money again. And even if she did turn him in, the only way she’d get any of the money back was if her father hadn’t already spent it. Or hidden it. Or gambled it away.

Her stomach turned as the truth sank in. The expansion she’d been planning and preparing for would have to wait. And that was just the financial cost.

The real price was the shame burning through her veins.

Alex had been right. Claire had been right. Everyone who knew and cared about her had been right. Her father hadn't changed. She'd been willfully blind, so desperate to believe in redemption that she'd ignored every warning sign.

She'd defended Leonard to everyone, but especially to Alex, drawing that hard line in the sand. She'd pushed him away because he'd tried to warn her.

And now she couldn't bear to face any of her friends with the truth.

The coffee shop would open in less than an hour. Customers would arrive, expecting their usual cheerful service from her. Somehow, she had to pull herself together and get through the day. No one could know what had happened. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She wiped her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and got ready for work.

"Ijustwantedyouto know," Mrs. Harrison said quietly later that morning, leaning across the counter. "In case it's connected to what happened the other day."

Juno stared at the older woman, her stomach churning. "One of your credit cards was stolen?"

Mrs. Harrison nodded. "The company called me about suspicious charges. Someone maxed it out two days ago—nearly ten thousand dollars. I've filed a fraud report, and the credit card company is handling it, but I just thought you might want to know."

"I'm so sorry," Juno managed, shame washing over her in waves. Her father hadn't just stolen from her; he'd stolen from her customers too. From people who trusted her. How many others had been victimized while she stubbornly defended him?

"It's not your fault, dear," Mrs. Harrison patted her hand, oblivious to the truth of the situation. "These things happen."

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