28. Juno
28
Juno
Juno stared at her laptop screen, the electronic banking portal displaying numbers that couldn't possibly be right. She blinked hard, hoping the figures would rearrange themselves into something that made sense. They didn't.
Beneath the current balance, two separate transactions processed through PayQuick, an online payment platform, stood out in stark black text: $16,900 for a refurbished espresso machine, and $26,500 for a company vehicle.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she clicked on the transaction details. Both had been processed yesterday while she'd been working the lunch rush. And both had been initiated from her mobile banking app.
The room tilted slightly. She knew exactly what had happened. Knew exactly who had done this.
With trembling fingers, she grabbed her phone and called her father. The call went straight to an automated disconnection notice.
She immediately dialed PayQuick's fraud department. After navigating an automated menu and waiting on hold for what felt like hours, a representative finally answered.
"I need to report fraudulent transactions," Juno said, fighting to keep her voice steady. She explained the situation, provided her account information, and described the two transfers.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Thomas," the representative said after placing her on a brief hold, "but both payments have already been processed and the funds were transferred out of our system. There's no way for us to recover them."
"But they were fraudulent," Juno insisted. "I didn't authorize them."
"Were the transfers made from your account? Using your credentials?"
"Yes, but—"
"And you're saying someone else had access to your banking information and authorization codes?"
Juno closed her eyes. "My—my father. He must have gotten my password somehow."
"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.
"I just wanted you to 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."
But it is my fault , Juno thought as she watched Mrs. Harrison leave. I brought him here. I gave him access to all of you.
She headed to her little office and dropped into her chair, sick at heart.
The next morning, Claire showed up just as Juno opened up and slid onto one of the stools at the counter. “I’ve been up for more than an hour already to prep for my big sale this weekend. I need energy. Pep. A pick-me-up that won’t make me jittery.” Claire’s shop didn’t open for several more hours, but her early morning visits were routine.
“How about an egg and avocado toast?” Juno suggested, knowing it was one of her friend’s favorites.
“Perfect.” Claire nodded. “And coffee, of course. I can handle it if I get something in my stomach, I promise.”
Juno rolled her eyes but filled a ceramic mug and set it in front of Claire. “I think you might like coffee more than I do,” she said, trying to force a lightness into her tone, even though she felt completely and utterly flat.
"So how are things with your dad?" Claire asked, like she’d picked up on Juno’s thoughts. "I haven't seen him around the last couple of days."
Juno kept her eyes on the sandwich she was preparing, afraid that if she looked at her friend, Claire would see right through her composure. "He got another job offer. Something with more hours than I can give him."
"Oh?" Claire sounded surprised. "He seemed so… content working here. Where's he working now?
"Out of town," Juno said vaguely. "A construction job."
"Okay." Claire's tone suggested she didn't quite believe this explanation but was willing to let it slide for now. "And how are things with Alex?” She wiggled her brows at Juno. “That’s what I really want to know. Are you two getting married yet? You’d better move fast to make up for all that lost time. I’m so glad you two sorted things out. You’re perfect for each other, Juno. And now that he has Lena? My goodness, but I love watching him with her. It’s like getting to see a whole new side of our Alex, isn’t it?”
Juno's hand trembled slightly as she poured the steamed milk. "Wow, you really have had too much caffeine, woman. Slow down.”
“Sorry,” Claire said, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “But tell me. You and Alex. And Lena. He and Lena were in The Cracked Spine the other night, but we were packed, and I didn’t get a chance to ask him how things were with the custody stuff. Not that I would’ve asked in front of Lena anyway; don’t worry.”
Juno held up a hand, not wanting this conversation to go on any longer. “Actually, Claire, I don’t really know, either. We're sorta taking a break. Just until he gets things sorted out with Lena, but he really needs to focus on that. Keep things simple for court, you know?" Wow. The lies were just flying out of her mouth today.
"Juno." Claire's eyes grew round, and her voice softened. "What happened? That doesn’t sound good.”
“Everything is fine,” Juno insisted, fanning the hardboiled egg slices over the mashed avocado on a thick slice of multigrain toast. “It’s fine,” she said again. “It’s just while things get sorted out.” Ugh. She’d said that already. And Claire wasn’t buying it.
Claire studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Well, if you need to talk, or just want company, call me. Day or night."
Not answering, she set Claire's breakfast in front of her. "Here you go.”
She was grateful when a group of men pushed into the shop at that moment. Early morning fishing, she presumed, and they’d likely all just want large black coffees to go. But they gave her an excuse to end the conversation with Claire, so she welcomed them with far more fervor than usual.
Two days later, Juno sat at her desk, staring at her phone. She'd couldn't put this call off any longer. The news from PayQuick and her bank wasn’t good. Without that police report, she’d essentially handed her father $40,000 and sent him on his way.
She dialed J&J Contractors, her heart sinking when John Jensen himself answered.
"John, it's Juno Thomas."
"Juno! Good to hear from you. How can I help you? I was going over your project plans this morning."
"That's actually why I'm calling," she cut in, hating herself for what she had to say next. "I—I need to put the expansion on hold."
A pause. "Is there a problem?" She knew people cancelled on contractors all the time, often last minute, and she hated that she was going to be one of those people. She heard the wariness in his voice.
"I’m so sorry to have to do this." She gripped the phone tighter. "There's been a... financial issue,” she finally blurted out. “Someone gained access to my bank accounts and my funds are all but gone."
"Jeez, Juno, I'm sorry to hear that." John's voice filled with genuine concern. "Is there nothing you can do? Doesn’t your bank offer fraud protection?”
"Unfortunately, not in this case. The bank is treating it as an account compromise rather than fraud because it was done by someone who supposedly had authority to do so,” she said evasively, not wanting to have to explain any of it to anyone. “I will just have to rebuild the fund again.” The words were like ashes in her mouth. "I don’t know how long it will be, but I’m hoping maybe by next fall?” It was wishful thinking, she knew, but she felt compelled to sound more confident than she felt.
In other words, she was still lying to cover for her mistakes.
"Of course. I’ll make a note of it, and you just keep in touch." John hesitated. "You know, Juno, my brother-in-law's on the force, I could talk to him."
"It's being handled," she said quickly. "Thank you, though."
After ending the call, Juno sat in the privacy of her office and listened to the sounds of the busy café just beyond her closed door. Regulars and first-timers, locals and tourist, staff and business contacts… she’d worked so hard for so long to build her dream business. And she’d succeeded. Juno’s Coffee Bar was profitable, even during slow months, because her community supported her. Believed in her.
How could she betray their trust by telling anyone what a fool she was?
Her expansion plans were shelved indefinitely. Her father—the man she'd naively given a second chance—had stolen from her and disappeared. And Alex... Alex had tried to warn her, had seen what she'd refused to see, and she'd pushed him away for it.
The two men in her life were gone, one by his own betrayal, one by her stubborn pride. Her savings were decimated. And she couldn't even seek comfort from her friends because the thought of admitting how thoroughly she'd been deceived was unbearable.
She'd made her bed, and now she had to lie in it. Alone.
Juno wrapped her arms around herself, feeling smaller than she had in years. For the first time since she'd returned to Autumn Lake all those years ago, Juno felt truly, desperately alone.