I believed him.
For a while.
Part 3 — The Things That Didn’t Add Up
By the third month, I expected a bike to appear in our garage.
It didn’t.
I finally asked Evan how much he had saved.
“Enough that I’m getting close.”
“What does ‘close’ mean?”
He shoved cereal into his mouth.
“Close.”
“Three hundred?”
“Mmm.”
“Two hundred?”
“Mmm.”
“Evan.”
“Mom.”
He smiled.
I rolled my eyes.
I assumed he was enjoying having his own money.
Maybe he bought fries after work.
Maybe he paid for games.
Maybe he had decided on a more expensive bike.
Thirteen-year-olds weren’t exactly famous for financial planning.
But then things started getting strange.
One Tuesday night, I walked past Evan’s bedroom and saw him sitting cross-legged on the floor.
There was a thick stack of cash in front of him.
Not five dollars.
Not twenty.
Hundreds.
He was separating bills into small piles.
When he noticed me, he nearly jumped.
In one motion, he shoved everything into his backpack.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That was definitely not nothing.”
“Just my savings.”
“Why are you carrying that much cash?”
