Breaking Matthew by Jennifer H. Westall Page A

toward the chair on the other side of his desk. “Take a seat. What can I do for you?”
    I perched on the edge of the chair and pulled the passbook for my savings account out of my coat pocket. “I just came in to close out my savings account.”
    The lines on his forehead deepened. “I don’t understand.” Then he smiled. “Oh, you mean you want to update your passbook with yesterday’s withdrawal? That isn’t necessary, son, but I’ll zero it out for you.”
    “Yesterday’s withdrawal? What are you talking about?”
    He tilted his head like a dog trying to make sense of a command. “This account was closed yesterday.”
    “What? How is that possible? I have the passbook right here. I should have just over four thousand dollars in there.”
    My head spun with questions. That was every penny I’d saved up since I was fourteen years old. I’d worked in Father’s stores, gotten odd jobs around town. Surely it wasn’t just gone.
    Mr. Campbell looked down at the passbook and back up at me with a perplexed expression. “Why, your father came in here yesterday and closed out the account. Said you had a new job lined up in Nashville, and you’d be moving your account to a bank up there.”
    I let this sink in for a moment. Why hadn’t he mentioned anything about this to me? “Are you sure?” I asked.
    “Well, I spoke to him myself. He didn’t have the passbook, but he had the account information and well…He and Mr. Parker go way back. And Mr. Parker approved the transaction since he was the primary account holder.”
    “ He was the primary account holder? That was supposed to be changed years ago when I went off to school!”
    “Well…I don’t know anything about that. According to Mr. Parker, your father was the primary. I suppose you’ll need to speak with Mr. Doyle about all this and get it straightened out. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
    I groaned, knowing it was most certainly not a misunderstanding. It was a deliberate move to place me under his thumb. Did he think he could just hold my money as ransom over my head to force me to do what he wanted? My blood raced hot through my skin.
    “I apologize for any confusion,” Mr. Campbell said. “If I can be of any further service, I’d be happy to help.”
    “I want to speak with Mr. Parker,” I said.
    “Unfortunately, he isn’t here right now.”
    Pushing myself up from the chair, I slammed my hand onto the desk, and Mr. Campbell jolted. “This is completely ridiculous! You’re telling me that my father can just waltz right in here and steal money from my account with the bank’s blessing?”
    Mr. Campbell glanced nervously around the room. When he spoke he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “No one said anything about stealing.”
    I paced in front of his desk, rubbing the back of my neck to ease the pressure building. Mr. Campbell was right about one thing. I was going to have to talk to Father and find out exactly what was going on.
     
    I stormed right past Era and into Father’s office, heading straight to his desk. Flinging all caution and childhood fears to the wind, I shoved my finger at him, demanding an explanation. “What kind of game are you playing at?”
    He kept on writing, his expression remaining unchanged. It occurred to me that he had been expecting this very confrontation, and I was probably playing right into his hands.
    “You may think you’re a grown man,” he said eventually in a steady, calm voice. “But you will not come bursting into my office and disrespect me.”
    I was in no mood for submitting to his control. “Where’s the money?”
    He dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as they met my own. “What money are you referring to, son?”
    “ My money! The money you stole from my savings account yesterday.”
    “Stole? I believe that account was in my name, and that I personally deposited every penny into it.”
    “I worked for that money, and you knew