“Did you talk to Mark?” she asked.
I did not want to tell her about the threat in the street, or the look on his face when he walked away.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a message from Julian.
Instead, a banking alert flashed on the screen.
A charge of nine hundred and forty dollars at a boutique hotel in Miami had just been declined.
Two seconds later, another alert popped up. A grocery transaction for three hundred and twelve dollars in Coral Gables had failed.
I pictured my mother and Mark standing at a grocery checkout, their carts full of imported food, while a cashier handed back a piece of useless plastic. They were stranded there, five hundred miles away, without my money to pay for their vacation.
“David?” Maya asked, watching my face.
“It is nothing,” I said, putting the phone face down on the small bedside table. “Just the bank confirming that the shared accounts are locked.”
