Final Deposit by Lisa Harris

isn’t his real name.”
    â€œThen what happens?”
    â€œThe fake official offers to transfer millions of dollars into the victim’s bank account. Reasons are as varied as the scam, but normally, the idea is to move hidden assets somewhere accessible. Assets, for example, of dead government workers, or maybe from overinvoiced contracts. The scammers promise a twenty-percent take on the deal and request things like bank-account information and telephone numbers, for starters.”
    The microwave dinged. “And you’re telling me that my father fell for this?”
    He found what he was looking for near the back—eight months’ worth of correspondence with Abraham Omah—including receipts from Western Union showing money transferred overseas—all filed by date. Kyle stood up with one of the signed papers and went to the counter. “Your father would have been sent numerous documents through the mail with official authentic-looking stamps, seals and logos. Over a period of weeks and months, he would have been asked to provide money for various taxes, attorney bills, transaction fees or even bribes. These scammers are sharp—Omah would have waited to ask for money until he could tell your father trusted him.”
    â€œTrusted him? No way.” Lindsey dumped a spoonful of sugar into each mug.
    â€œThe evidence suggests otherwise, Lindsey. It’s all here—I’ve seen it all before.” He set the paper on the counter and reached for the mug she offered him. “It all boils down to the fact that your father was told that for a small amount of money up front, he’d receive a fortune, and he believed it. For some people, it’s a scenario too good to pass up.”
    Lindsey stared at her coffee. “How much do you think he lost?”
    Kyle pressed his lips together. There was no way of knowing at this point. He’d had clients who’d lost anywhere from a couple hundred to over two hundred thousand. “I don’t know.”
    She grabbed the letter he’d laid on the counter and started ripping it into pieces.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Lindsey?” He reached out to stop her.
    She swung away from him and her elbow hit her coffee mug. It smashed against the kitchen floor.
    â€œLindsey.” Kyle grabbed her wrists, leading her around the broken shards and out of the kitchen.
    â€œHow could he do something like this?” she yelled, angry tears spilling down her face.
    Kyle pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Lindsey.”
    Sobs shook her body but she didn’t fight to get away.
    He held her tightly and waited. When she’d stopped crying, she looked up at him.
    â€œHe’s lost everything, hasn’t he?”
    â€œNo, Lindsey,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face. “He hasn’t lost you.”

SIX
    L indsey fingered the torn pieces of paper and tried to still the pounding of her heart. What had triggered her father’s insane acceptance of someone he’d never even met into his personal life? Why would he throw away thousands of dollars, hoping to win a million-dollar jackpot?
    She crossed the floor and stopped at her mother’s curio cabinet. Outlines of the porcelain figures in the dust on the glass were the only evidence of where they once sat. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could see them all. The dancing ballerina her father had found in a tiny shop in Switzerland. The swan her mother picked out for her fiftieth birthday. The figure of a mother and child.
    A wave of fortitude swept through her. Kyle was right. There was no use denying what had happened. The evidence lay scattered in tangible piles across the living-room floor.
    Her shallow breathing deepened. She’d fix this. Somehow. She would figure out a way to rescue her father. She went back into the kitchen, grabbed the dustpan and broom and started sweeping. Reaching down