The screen loaded slowly.

When the balance appeared, my breath stopped.

My savings account, the one where I kept the emergency funds I had saved over ten years, was empty.

The balance read $0.00.

I stared at the numbers, unable to understand what I was seeing.

I scrolled down to the transaction history.

An external transfer of twelve thousand dollars had been initiated fifteen minutes ago.

It was sent to an account registered under my mother’s name.

She had access to my account.

Two years ago, when I was working sixty hours a week and trying to file my taxes, I had given her my banking information.

I had trusted her to help me.

And she had kept the details.

My phone began to ring.

The screen lit up with an unknown number from a Chicago area code.

I pressed the answer button and held the phone to my ear.

“Clara?” a voice whispered.

It wasn’t my mother.

It was Lauren’s voice, and she sounded terrified.

“Lauren?” I said, my voice barely a squeak.

“Clara, thank God you answered,” she whispered, her voice shaking.