Refund Warrior

I opened my banking app and, in front of the more than ten thousand people watching Jack Griffin's livestream, pulled up my transaction history for the past six months.

Balance: $0.63.

He immediately pressed my phone down, though his voice remained gentle. "Brielle, I'm here today because I want to help you."

As he said it, the camera was pointed straight at my face.

The comments flew by like startled flies in a marketplace.

"Look at that pathetic face. She doesn't look sorry at all."

"Her brother is seriously pitiful. He saves $3,000 from his paycheck every month to support an ungrateful brat."

"$18,000? I don't even make that much in living expenses."

Jack glanced at the comments. The corners of his mouth almost curled upward, but his professional instincts forced them back down.

I was just about to speak when my counselor, Zara Snow, pushed through the crowd. She first told the students gathered around to disperse, then turned to Jack.

"This is the school entrance. Turn off the camera immediately."

Jack immediately turned the camera toward Ms. Snow. "Ma'am, I don't want to make this a bigger deal either. But Brielle is having some psychological problems right now. As her brother, I can't just stand by and watch her go down the wrong path over two cents, can I?"

The way he said it, you would have thought I hadn't asked for a two-cent refund but had embezzled money from the United Nations.

Before Ms. Snow could respond, my phone rang.

A message had come through the college student affairs group. The Student Affairs Office wanted me to come in that afternoon to explain the alleged malicious refund and withdrawal of a charitable donation.

Until the investigation was complete, my work-study shifts were temporarily suspended.

I stared at the words "temporarily suspended," and my palms slowly went cold.

My work-study job paid $900 a month. That was my actual living money. Not a single cent of the $18,000 Jack had invented would ever reach me, but the $900 I depended on to survive was gone because of his livestream.

When he saw my face turn pale, he let out a satisfied sigh. "Brielle, listen to me. Apologize to everyone and admit you made a foolish mistake. I won't hold it against you."

He handed me an apology statement he had prepared in advance.

It began: "Because of my family's excessive spoiling, I developed a selfish, vain personality and a habit of taking advantage of others over trivial amounts of money."

At twenty years old, I was learning for the first time that even $200 a month counted as being spoiled.

"You said you give me $3,000 every month, right?"

"Of course."

"Which account do you transfer it to?"

Jack paused for a moment. "Brielle, are you seriously suspicious of me now?"

I looked at him. "Whether I'm suspicious or not isn't important. What matters is whether the money actually arrived."

The comments went silent for two seconds.

Jack immediately ended the livestream. The screen went black, and the pain on his face clocked out right along with it. "Brielle, do you have to humiliate me?"

"Weren't you the one who told me to clear my name?"

"I was giving you a way out!" He lowered his voice and grabbed my wrist. "Video-call Mom and Dad tonight and read the statement exactly as written. I'll do another livestream tomorrow, and you can smooth everything over. Otherwise, I'll post everything about how you stole money and lied when you were little."

I had never stolen money.

When I was ten, Jack took $50 to an arcade. When he got caught, he said I had taken it.

Dad locked me out on the balcony for the entire night. The next day, Jack secretly slipped me a piece of fruit candy. I remembered that candy for years, but somehow forgot who had helped Dad shut the balcony door.

When he saw Ms. Snow approaching, he put on his goody-two-shoes expression again. "Brielle, don't let the whole family down."

His shoes gleamed painfully bright in the sunlight.

I lowered my eyes to my own old canvas sneakers. The toe had come unglued, and I'd patched it up with a tube of $1 glue the week before.

Suddenly, I really wanted to know.

Who had actually paid for his shoes?