My brother stole my ATM card and emptied my entire account. Then he kicked me out of the house, saying, “Your job is done, we got what we wanted.” The worst part was that my parents laughed as if it had all been part of a plan.

The next morning, I walked into the bank branch still wearing my wrinkled scrubs. A manager named Mrs. Gable escorted me into a glass-walled office to review the damage.

“This is a very serious situation, Alana,” she said while scrolling through the logs. “Because these were restricted funds, the bank has a legal obligation to pursue the unauthorized parties.”

“Can the money be recovered?” I asked, my heart racing.

“The wire transfer is currently in a holding state, so we can likely reverse it. The cash withdrawals are harder, but we have already pulled the high-definition security footage from the ATMs.”

I left the bank and went straight to the police station to file a formal report. Then I called the estate attorney who had handled Muriel’s will.

“Alana, do not respond to any messages from your family,” he warned me. “If they knowingly accessed a restricted trust, they are facing felony charges.”

I hadn’t even reached my car when Garrett called me, his voice booming through the speakers. “What the hell did you do? Why is my account locked?”

“You stole from a protected trust, Garrett,” I said coldly.

“That was family money, you selfish brat!” he screamed.