Chapter 3
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Her mother's money.
Nicole.
My first wife.
The woman who'd spent her final months making sure Maya would have a future.
I stared at Jordan.
“What account?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I don't know everything.”
“Tell me what you know.”
Jordan glanced toward Maya.
Then looked down.
“Mom said Nicole left Maya a lot of money.”
My daughter looked confused.
“Mom left me money?”
I turned toward her.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Her eyes widened.
I took her hand.
“Your mother created a trust for you before she died.”
Maya stared at me.
“Why didn't I know?”
My chest tightened.
“Because I wanted to explain it properly when you turned eighteen.”
I paused.
“And because I thought everything was being managed safely.”
Nicole had been a successful architect.
Before her diagnosis, she'd owned a small design firm and inherited a rental property from her grandmother.
She worked hard.
Saved carefully.
And made plans for Maya's education.
When she became ill, she established a trust.
I was named trustee.
The money was supposed to support our daughter's future.
College.
Housing.
Whatever she needed to begin adulthood securely.
I hadn't touched those funds for ordinary household expenses.
I paid Maya's bills from my own income.
The trust belonged to her.
I looked at Jordan.
“What did your mother say about it?”
He swallowed.
“She said it wasn't fair.”
My stomach twisted.
“Not fair?”
“She said Maya already had college paid for, but I didn't.”
Jordan's voice shook.
“She said you should divide the money between us.”
I took a slow breath.
“Jordan, your mother knows that money was left specifically to Maya.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“And that I can't simply give it away.”
He looked down.
“I told her it didn't sound right.”
Maya stared at him.
“You knew she wanted my mom's money?”
His eyes filled.
“Maya, I'm sorry.”
She pulled her hand away from mine.
“How long?”
Jordan swallowed.
“Since March.”
My daughter stood.
“March?”
He nodded.
She stepped backward.
“All those times you sat beside me at dinner…”
“Maya, please.”
“You knew?”
Jordan began crying.
“I didn't know she was threatening you!”
Maya shook her head.
Then ran upstairs.
I stood to follow.
But Jordan grabbed my sleeve.
“Marcus, please listen.”
I looked at him.
He looked terrified.
“Mom told me she was going to fix everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“She said once Maya signed the documents, the money could be shared.”
My chest tightened.
“What documents?”
Jordan looked toward the kitchen.
“There's a folder in Mom's desk.”
I stared at him.
“Have you seen it?”
He nodded.
“There are papers about the car and the trust.”
I took a breath.
“Did she ask you to sign anything?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“What?”
“A statement saying Maya agreed to give me the car.”
I looked at him.
“Did you sign it?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Relief loosened my chest.
Then he whispered something that made me freeze.
“But Mom signed my name anyway.”
I stared at him.
Jordan lowered his face.
“She told me if I didn't cooperate, I'd be proving I didn't love her.”
I sat down slowly.
For the first time, I understood that Jordan wasn't simply benefiting from his mother's cruelty.
He was trapped in it too.
I looked at him.
“Son, listen carefully.”
He raised his eyes.
“You are not responsible for your mother's decisions.”
His lips trembled.
“But I should have said something.”
“Yes,” I answered gently.
“You should have.”
He began crying.
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“But telling the truth now matters.”
He nodded.
Then whispered, “Can you help Maya?”
“I will.”
“And…”
He hesitated.
“What?”
“Can you help me too?”
My heart broke.
I had known Jordan since he was eleven.
I'd taught him to drive.
Helped him build his first bookshelf.
Attended his basketball games.
And told him repeatedly that marrying his mother meant I wanted to be part of his life too.
But I'd never realized how afraid he was of disappointing her.
I squeezed his shoulder.
“We'll figure this out.”
Then I went upstairs.
Maya's bedroom door was closed.
I knocked gently.
“Sweetheart?”
No answer.
“Maya, it's Dad.”
I heard movement.
Then a small voice.
“Come in.”
I opened the door.
She was sitting on her bed, hugging a photograph of Nicole.
Her face was wet with tears.
I sat beside her.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “Mom tried to take care of me.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“And Denise wanted to take that too.”
I closed my eyes.
Maya began crying harder.
“Why does she hate me?”
I reached for her hand.
“Baby, I don't know.”
She shook her head.
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“You did nothing wrong.”
She looked at me.
“Then why does she always act like Jordan deserves everything and I deserve nothing?”
I pulled her close.
For several minutes, she cried against my chest.
I held her.
And I remembered Nicole's last night.
She'd been weak.
Her voice barely worked.
But she gripped my hand and whispered, “Promise me Maya will always know she's wanted.”
I'd promised.
And now I realized how close I'd come to failing her.
I kissed Maya's forehead.
“I'm sorry I didn't see what was happening.”
She shook her head.
“You were working.”
“That isn't an excuse.”
She looked up.
I continued.
“I should have listened when you tried to tell me.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I thought you wouldn't believe me.”
I swallowed.
“I believe you now.”
She leaned against me.
After a while, I asked whether she'd be willing to speak with a counselor.
She nodded.
“I think I need to.”
I held her hand.
“We'll find someone you feel comfortable with.”
Then I asked one more question.
“Did Denise ever tell you what would happen if you refused to sign the papers?”
Maya went still.
Her fingers tightened around Nicole's photograph.
I waited.
Finally, she whispered, “She said she'd tell everyone I stole from Jordan.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“She said she'd make you believe I was selfish.”
I felt cold.
Then Maya reached beneath her pillow.
She pulled out a folded paper.
“Dad, I kept this.”
I opened it.
It was a document titled VOLUNTARY FAMILY ASSET REALLOCATION.
My daughter's name appeared at the top.
Jordan's name appeared beneath it.
And at the bottom was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
But I had never signed it.
The document claimed I had authorized the transfer of part of Nicole's trust to a company I'd never heard of.
Beneath the company name were three letters.
D.W.H.
I stared at them.
Then I recognized the initials.
Denise Williams Holdings.
May you like
My wife's private business.
And for the first time, I realized the stolen car might have been only the smallest part of her plan.
