Chapter 22 Scott - Show Me the Money
SCOTT: SHOW ME THE MONEY
The garage reeked of weed, cheap beer, and desperation, three of my favorite coping mechanisms. Dollar bills were scattered across the card table, limp with sweat and bong water.
Michelle always pictured me out here gambling away our rent, but none of these guys could scrape together more than ten bucks between them.
The only thing at stake, aside from a few spare dollars, was pride and a few bruised egos.
Yeah, I was still friends with all the guys from the neighborhood.
We’d stuck together through thick and thin, clinging to the same bad habits that had bound us from the start.
They were terrible influences. Hell, so was I, but there was something comforting about being surrounded by these idiots. Except I wasn’t feeling relaxed.
The tension from yesterday’s clash with Michelle was still hanging around.
She knew I was lying and wanted to hear me say it.
Did you take any money out of the envelope, Scott?
I’d denied it. Badly. She’d looked at me like I was a stranger wearing her husband’s face, and there was nothing that ate at me more than disappointing her.
I’d told her I’d fix it, and yet here I was throwing more money away with my stoner friends on our standing Sunday afternoon poker game.
“Yo, McKallister,” Allen said, lighting another joint. “You in, or did Michelle take away your lunch money?”
“Ha. Ha. So funny,” I said, tossing in a buck. “I get an allowance.”
The whole table cracked up. I let them. It was easier to emasculate myself in front of my buddies than to come clean about where the money was really going.
I glanced at my cards. A pair of sevens, nothing special, so I folded.
Johnny squinted at me through the haze. “You good, man?”
I smiled, or tried to. “Yeah. Just tired.”
That was the lie I’d been using lately. Tired covered everything.
My job. The money, the guilt, the quiet panic of realizing I’d promised Michelle a good life and somehow delivered a half-paid electric bill and a habit of disappointing her.
And that was before she knew the half of it.
I was in deep, and the only real way out was to come clean—today, right now, before the lie grew another day older.
I should’ve told her. I almost did. But the words got stuck in my throat, and I let the moment slip.
My father had walked out when things got hard.
I’d spent my whole life swearing I wasn’t him.
And yet here I was with smoke in my lungs, lies in my mouth, and no idea how to stop the walls from closing in.
The apartment complex was quiet when I pulled up.
The outdoor hallway lights buzzed against the fading daylight, throwing a sickly glow across the row of front doors.
I knew Michelle and the kids were waiting behind one of them, and the second I crossed the barrier, I’d have to switch it on.
The best husband. The best father. No excuses. They deserved that much.
I killed the engine and sat there, my forehead against the wheel, wondering how long I could keep lying to her before it all came apart.
Then a knock on the window damn near stopped my heart.
Marty.
I rolled the window halfway. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Marty leaned in, toothpick rolling lazily between his teeth, that easy, too-friendly smile already in place. “That’s not very nice. I thought we were building something special here.”
My grip tightened on the wheel. “What do you want?”
“Easy, McKallister. I’m just checking in on my favorite delivery guy. You’ve been quiet lately—makes me wonder if you’re trying to skip out on this week’s contribution.”
“I didn’t make anything this week,” I said.
“See now, that sounds like a you problem.” He looked back over his shoulder, surveying the apartment complex. “That’s yours, ain’t it? Second floor. With the blue curtains?”
The threat hung there. My jaw ticked. I dug into my wallet, pulling out all remaining bills, and thrust them through the gap. “That’s everything I got.”
Marty thumbed through them slowly. “Aw, come on, McKallister. This is barely enough for a six-pack and some smokes.”
“Because Sinclair didn’t need any extra cases this week. No overflow, no side cash.”
Marty’s grin widened, slow and oily. “Then get creative next delivery. I’m flexible… up to a point. Let’s not make this awkward for the missus upstairs, yeah?”
“I swear to god, Marty, if you even think about involving my family—”
He raised a hand, placating, still leering. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you started stealing from the boss.”
God, he made me sound like such a lowlife.
It wasn’t like I’d set out for a life of crime.
There was one extra box of liquor on a shipment.
I’d already loaded it back in my van when the bar owner offered me cash for it.
Your boss won’t know, he’d said. It’ll be our secret.
And so, when I needed some extra cash, I made sure extra cases were in my van when I made my delivery.
No big deal. I was stealing profits from a rich guy.
The way I saw it was sort of like a modern-day Robin Hood thing, only I was giving to myself and not the poor villagers.
Things were going fine until Marty caught on to the scam, but instead of turning me in, he hooked onto the crime, shaking me down weekly for his cut or he’d tell the boss and get me fired…
or worse, have me arrested. That money Michelle was questioning me about?
It was going to Marty on the weeks I wasn’t stealing enough.
I’d tried to stop it more than once, but Marty had backed me into a corner, and I couldn’t see any way out.
“I’ll let it slide this time,” he said, tucking the cash inside his jacket. “But I’ll expect the rest on the next payday.”
The words had only just left his mouth when the door to our second-floor apartment opened and Michelle stepped out, barefoot in one of my old shirts, arms folded tight across her chest. “Scott? What are you doing out here—” she cut herself off when she saw Marty.
He turned, all charm now. “Evening, ma’am. Didn’t mean to interrupt family time.”
Her eyes flicked between us, sharp and suspicious. “Who are you?”
“Just a coworker,” he answered smoothly. “Your husband and I go way back.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Way back.”
She didn’t buy it. I could see it in the tilt of her head, the way she scanned Marty like she was memorizing his face for later.
“Are you coming up?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “He was just leaving. Go inside. I’ll be right up.”
Marty smirked as Michelle disappeared back inside, then gave me a salute, and strolled toward the curb, whistling like the creep he was.
I remained in my truck for as long as was safely allowed before Michelle came after me.
I just needed a few minutes to get my story straight, but even I knew that wouldn’t be enough time.
Michelle was a lot smarter than me. If she dug in, I was done for.
Finally, I exited my vehicle and made my way upstairs to face my fate.
Michelle was waiting for me inside the door. She pulled me in and locked the door. “Scott… what was that?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?” She stepped closer, her voice low and concerned. “Who was he, really?”
I exhaled hard, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is. Try me.”
I hesitated, but the silence said more than I wanted it to.
Her face went pale. “Scott.”
“I messed up,” I admitted. “At work. Took some product off the truck and sold it. Just to make ends meet. Marty found out. He’s been… taking a cut—no, taking all of it and more—to keep quiet.”
“How long?” she asked. “How long has this been going on?”
“Almost a year.”
She stilled, disbelief giving way to anger, her voice sharp when she spoke. “You stole from your employer?”
“I did it for us,” I said. “Because I promised I’d give you a good life—”
The instant they left my mouth, I knew I’d misfired.
Michelle’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing thin with something darker than anger.
This was hurt. Betrayal. “Don’t you dare put this on me.
You didn’t do this for us. You did it because you were too proud to let me help.
I offered to get a part-time job, but you shut it down.
You said you had it covered. And now you’ve put us all at risk—me, the kids, everything. ”
“Michelle—”
She didn’t answer. She stood there, breathing through it, her chest rising and falling.
Her eyes flicked to the kids playing in the living room before returning to me—searching, weighing, grieving.
I watched the moment it happened, when the decision locked into place behind her eyes.
The anger was gone. What replaced it was colder.
Final. She turned, walked to the closet, dragged the suitcase out, and started packing.
“What are you doing?” I asked, though I already knew.
“What I have to,” she said, piling clothes, toiletries, and diapers into the suitcase.
“I’ve tried to be patient, Scott. You know I have.
I don’t say anything when you go out with your coworkers for a drink after your shift.
Or when you hang out with your stoner friends.
Or when you come home smelling like you stuffed a skunk into the cab of your truck.
But no way am I going to allow you to put our kids at risk.
I love you, but that’s where I draw the line. ”
I reached for her, my fingers grazing her waist. She twisted away.
“Babe, come on. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
“Then why haven’t you?” she snapped—then checked herself, her voice dropping into something tight and controlled. “One year, Scott. You’ve had a year to fix this.”
“I know. I just… I will.”
Michelle held my gaze for a long moment, like she wanted anything other than what she was about to do. It was my chance. I pulled her into my arms, holding her, apologizing. I felt her give. One broken sob. But then her hand came to my chest and pushed me back.
“No, you won’t.”
She rolled the suitcase into the kids’ room. I watched her throw their clothes in and zip it shut. My life was closing in on me, fast. She moved into the living room without looking at me, scooped up Emma and reached for Keith’s hand. “Let’s go.”
I trailed behind as she took our kids down the stairs. Keith kept turning back, asking questions she didn’t answer, his confusion rising with every step. By the time she buckled him into the car, Emma was crying, her face buried against Michelle’s shoulder.
“Babe, please,” I pleaded. “Don’t do this. It’s late—”
“I’m not staying here with him knowing where we live.
” She secured Emma into her car seat and got into the driver’s seat.
Through the open door, she looked up at me, her face set, eyes full of heartbreak and fury.
“I never asked you to give me a good life, Scott. All I wanted was a happy one. A safe one.”
The engine started, and the headlights cut across the parking lot.
Then she was gone.
And I stood there alone in the driveway, the night pressing in, knowing I’d become him. My fucking father.