Chapter 4
Two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.
I stared at Rebecca as though I had misheard.
"She tried to borrow that much against our house?"
Rebecca nodded.
"That's what the application indicates."
I felt sick.
Our home was the first major thing Nia and I purchased together.
I bought it after my second deployment.
We spent weekends choosing paint colors.
We planted a maple tree in the backyard.
We argued about kitchen cabinets and laughed about how much we suddenly cared about faucets.
I believed that house represented everything we had survived together.
Now I was discovering that Nia had tried to turn it into cash.
"Why?" I asked.
Rebecca studied the paperwork.
"We don't know yet."
I looked at the proposed loan.
The lender had requested additional verification.
That was why the transaction hadn't closed.
My signature appeared on several forms.
But I hadn't seen any of them.
I was overseas.
Working.
Calling home when I could.
And my wife had been telling another man I was dead.
Rebecca reached for her phone.
"We need to notify the lender immediately that you're disputing the authorization."
I nodded.
We contacted the lender's fraud department.
They agreed to review the application and suspend processing while verifying the documents.
Rebecca also helped me begin checking my credit reports and financial accounts.
I didn't know how much damage had already been done.
But I wasn't going to wait for another surprise.
That afternoon, I visited the storage facility Nia had used.
Jasmine came with me.
We had located a rental agreement among the household papers.
The unit was registered in Nia's name, so we contacted her through Rebecca to arrange authorized access rather than forcing entry.
Nia agreed to allow us to collect my personal belongings.
When the door opened, I felt my chest tighten.
There were boxes everywhere.
My uniforms.
My books.
Our wedding photographs.
The wooden chair my father made when I was a teenager.
And the glass case containing his burial flag.
I walked toward it slowly.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Jasmine stood beside me.
"Marcus?"
I touched the case.
Dad had served in the Army for twenty-two years.
He taught me discipline.
Responsibility.
The meaning of keeping a promise.
When he died, I promised myself I would make him proud.
Now I felt like I had failed at the most basic thing.
Protecting my own home.
Jasmine placed her hand on my shoulder.
"This isn't your failure."
I shook my head.
"I didn't see any of it."
She looked at me.
"You were deployed. You trusted your wife."
I swallowed.
"Maybe I trusted her too much."
Jasmine nodded slowly.
"Maybe. But trust doesn't give someone permission to lie."
I looked at the flag.
Then I lifted it carefully.
We loaded the boxes into my truck.
When I returned home, I carried Dad's flag into the living room.
I placed it back on the shelf.
Then I sat beside it for nearly an hour.
I needed something familiar.
Something honest.
Something that hadn't changed.
That evening, Mom called.
Jasmine had told her I was home.
I answered.
"Hey, Mom."
Her voice was excited.
"Marcus! My baby!"
I smiled weakly.
"Hey."
"When did you get back?"
"Yesterday."
She laughed.
"And you didn't tell your mother?"
I closed my eyes.
"I wanted to surprise Nia."
There was a pause.
Mom knew me too well.
"Marcus?"
I swallowed.
"Yeah?"
"What's wrong?"
I tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
Then I began crying.
I hadn't cried like that since Dad's funeral.
Mom stayed on the phone.
She didn't interrupt.
She didn't tell me to be strong.
She waited until I could speak.
Then I told her everything.
The bathrobes.
Daniel.
The fake death notification.
The forged signatures.
The attempted refinancing.
The storage unit.
When I finished, the line was silent.
Then Mom whispered, "Oh, my son."
I pressed my hand against my forehead.
"I'm sorry."
Her voice became firm.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"For embarrassing the family."
She gasped.
"Marcus Walker, don't you ever say that again."
I closed my eyes.
She continued.
"Your wife's choices are not your disgrace."
I began crying again.
"I loved her, Mom."
"I know."
"I thought we had something real."
"I know, baby."
For a long time, we sat in silence.
Then she asked, "Are you safe?"
I looked around the room.
"Yes."
"Is Jasmine with you?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'm coming tomorrow."
I tried to protest.
She refused.
"I don't care how old you are. You're still my son."
For the first time since arriving home, I almost smiled.
The next morning, Mom arrived carrying enough food to feed an entire platoon.
She hugged me in the doorway.
Then she looked at my face.
"Oh, Marcus."
I held her tightly.
She whispered, "We're going to get through this."
I wanted to believe her.
But the next phone call made everything worse.
Rebecca had obtained additional information from the lender.
Carla Jennings wasn't simply Nia's cousin.
She was a licensed mortgage broker who had previously faced professional complaints involving document irregularities.
Rebecca cautioned me that complaints alone did not prove misconduct.
But the connection was concerning.
Then she told me something else.
Carla had submitted a second application.
This one involved my military investment account.
The application had been rejected because the institution required identity verification that Nia couldn't complete.
I stared at Rebecca's email.
Twice.
Nia had tried to reach money I kept separate from our household expenses.
Money I saved during years away from home.
Money I intended to use when I eventually retired.
I felt cold.
Then another message arrived.
It came from Daniel.
Marcus, I found something in Nia's paperwork. I think you need to see it before Carla destroys it.
I called him immediately.
"What did you find?"
His voice was shaking.
"A folder with your name on it."
I swallowed.
"What's inside?"
He hesitated.
"Bank statements. Loan applications. And a list of dates."
My heartbeat quickened.
"What dates?"
He took a breath.
"The dates of your deployment, your supposed death, and when she planned to marry me."
I closed my eyes.
Then Daniel added, "Marcus, there's a note beside your return date."
My stomach dropped.
May you like
"What note?"
He whispered, "It says, 'Must finalize everything before he comes home.'"
