My Son Stole Fifteen Thousand Dollars Chapter 2

I ignored the tantrum. Right in front of them, I called the platform’s customer service. I submitted the account info, the security footage, and Toby’s ID as requested to apply for a "Minor Unauthorized Purchase" refund.

Twenty minutes later, the agent called back with an apologetic tone.

"Sir, I’m very sorry. Because the account is verified in an adult’s name and the payment was authorized via a known device and passcode, 70% of the funds have already been disbursed to the creator and the management agency. We can only offer a courtesy refund of $9,000. The remaining $6,000 is non-recoverable."

When I hung up, the living room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Toby, hearing that the "debt" had dropped to six thousand, sat up straighter. There was still no guilt on his face; if anything, he looked annoyed, as if $6,000 was just pocket change he could wait out.

Ella, however, finally grasped the gravity of it. She grabbed Toby’s arm and swatted his backside—hard—her voice thick with tears.

"You little monster! That was your education! Tell your father you're sorry! Tell him you'll never touch his things again!"

Toby started to wail again, but then he saw Ella’s bloodshot eyes. He immediately switched tactics, drooping his head and looking like a kicked puppy.

"Dad, I’m sorry. I won’t take your phone again. Please just forgive me this once?"

I watched his eyes darting around. I knew that look. It wasn't repentance; it was calculation. He’d done this before—when he broke my vintage watch, when he "borrowed" Ella’s credit card for App Store purchases. He’d play the victim, wait for us to soften, and then go right back to his old ways.

"Apologies don't pay the bills," I said, leaning back against the wall.

"The six-thousand-dollar gap stays. He has to earn it. If he’s bold enough to steal fifteen thousand today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow if there are no consequences? This ends now."

"Are you insane?" Ella snapped, pulling Toby behind her. "He’s ten! How is a ten-year-old supposed to make six thousand dollars? Is your heart made of stone, David? He’s your son!"

"He said he was sorry! Just give him a stern talk and move on!"

I didn't engage. I pulled up a list of local chore-for-hire and community service opportunities on my phone and held it out to her.

"I’ve already checked. The local cafe needs flyers distributed. The neighborhood association pays for litter pick-up. It’s manual labor, but it’s safe, and it’s work. It won't kill him."

Ella’s face turned several shades of red and white. She refused to agree, accusing me of being "vindictive." Toby joined in, howling that he wouldn't go. Eventually, Ella ushered him into his room, whispering that she’d find a way to cover the $6,000 herself and that I should just leave it alone.

The next morning, I took a personal day. At 7:00 AM, I knocked on his door to take him to his first flyer route.

Toby burrowed under his duvet, his voice muffled but defiant. "I’m not going! Give me a week, I’ll have the money! Just leave me alone!"

I was about to ask what he meant when I heard Ella scream from the hallway.

"David! Have you seen my gold anniversary necklace? The one you gave me last year?"

"And my vintage Louis Vuitton bag—the one from the top shelf of the closet? It’s gone!"

My stomach dropped. I turned to Toby. He was shrinking into his covers, his eyes shifting frantically. I strode over, ripped the duvet back, and grabbed the iPad he was hiding under his pillow.

The screen was open to a popular reselling app.

The $5,000 necklace was listed for $3,500. The $2,000 bag was listed for $1,200. There were already comments from buyers asking if they could pick them up today.

Toby had even replied: “Available today. Can do $200 off if you're fast.”

"Were you seriously going to sell your mother’s things?" I hissed.

Finding himself cornered, Toby’s "sad puppy" act evaporated. He glared at me, his lip curling. "So what? They're just sitting there! If I sell them and give you the six thousand, I don't have to go work. Why are you even mad? You’re getting your money back!"

Ella walked into the room just in time to hear him. She looked at the iPad, then at her son, and her knees gave out. She slumped against the doorframe, her hand over her mouth, unable to say a single word.