Chapter 6
I didn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Nicole.
Her smile.
Her tired eyes during treatment.
The way she'd held Maya's tiny hand and whispered promises about the future.
Now I was discovering that someone might have taken money connected to the business she'd worked so hard to build.
I sat at my desk until sunrise.
Old photographs covered the surface.
Nicole standing beside her first architectural model.
Nicole holding an award for a community housing project.
Nicole smiling in front of the office she'd opened with two employees and a borrowed desk.
She had never been interested in luxury.
She wanted to design homes families could afford.
She believed every child deserved a safe place to grow up.
I remembered her telling me that a house wasn't truly beautiful unless the people inside felt loved.
I pressed one hand against my face.
For years, I'd believed I was honoring her by providing Maya with everything money could buy.
But Nicole had meant something much deeper.
Safety.
Belonging.
Love without conditions.
And somewhere along the way, I'd allowed Denise to make those things uncertain.
At seven, I heard a soft knock.
“Dad?”
I looked up.
Maya stood in the doorway.
She wore pajamas and held a mug.
“I made you coffee.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
She approached.
Then noticed the photographs.
“Mom?”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She sat beside me.
For a moment, we looked at the pictures together.
Then she touched one.
“Was she happy?”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“When she worked.”
I smiled sadly.
“She loved it.”
Maya studied the photograph.
“Did she want me to be an architect too?”
I shook my head.
“She wanted you to become whatever made you happy.”
Maya smiled faintly.
“Even if I want to study journalism?”
“Especially then.”
Her eyes brightened.
She'd been talking about journalism for months.
She loved writing.
Asking questions.
Finding stories people overlooked.
I looked at her.
“Your mom would've loved that.”
Maya leaned against my shoulder.
Then whispered, “I wish I could ask her questions.”
My eyes filled.
“Me too.”
We sat quietly.
Then I told her something I'd never shared before.
“When your mom was pregnant, she kept a notebook.”
Maya looked up.
“What kind?”
“She wrote down things she wanted to teach you.”
Her eyes widened.
“Do you still have it?”
I nodded.
“It's in the memory box upstairs.”
She smiled.
“Can we read it?”
“Of course.”
After breakfast, we opened the box together.
Nicole's notebook was small.
Blue.
With a worn leather cover.
On the first page, she'd written:
For my daughter, who will someday ask questions I may not know how to answer.
Maya laughed softly.
“That sounds like me.”
I smiled.
“It does.”
We read several pages.
Nicole had written about kindness.
Courage.
Friendship.
And the importance of knowing your worth.
One sentence made Maya stop.
Never let another person's jealousy convince you that your blessings are something to apologize for.
She looked at me.
“Dad…”
I nodded.
“I know.”
Tears slipped down her face.
I squeezed her hand.
Then she closed the notebook.
“I want to keep this in my room.”
I smiled.
“It's yours.”
For the first time that morning, she looked peaceful.
Later, Camille called.
The one-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar payment was connected to an old licensing agreement involving Nicole's design company.
But the records were incomplete.
The payment appeared to have been routed through a consulting arrangement.
Denise's company was listed as a recipient.
I frowned.
“Why would Nicole's business owe Denise money?”
Camille paused.
“That's what we're investigating.”
I took a breath.
“Could it be legitimate?”
“Possibly. We need the underlying contracts.”
I nodded.
But something bothered me.
Denise had never mentioned receiving money connected to Nicole's work.
Not once.
And she certainly hadn't told me she was trying to obtain more.
I asked Camille to review the company's business history.
Then I called an old friend.
Angela Carter.
Nicole's former business partner.
Angela was fifty-two.
Sharp.
Funny.
And someone who'd worked beside Nicole for almost a decade.
She answered warmly.
“Marcus!”
I smiled sadly.
“Hey, Angela.”
“It's been too long.”
“I know.”
We talked briefly.
Then I explained the situation.
Her tone changed.
“Denise?”
“Yes.”
Angela went quiet.
Then asked, “Marcus, did you know Denise used to attend our industry events?”
I froze.
“What?”
“Years ago.”
I leaned forward.
“Before Nicole died?”
“Yes.”
My heart tightened.
“Did she know Nicole?”
Angela hesitated.
“Not well. But she knew who she was.”
I stared at the wall.
“Why didn't I know that?”
“I assumed she'd told you.”
My stomach twisted.
Angela continued.
“Denise worked for a property-development firm that sometimes competed for contracts with us.”
I took a breath.
“Did she have any disputes with Nicole?”
A pause.
“Actually, yes.”
My pulse quickened.
“What happened?”
“Nicole rejected a proposal Denise helped prepare.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because the project didn't meet our standards.”
Angela sighed.
“Denise was furious.”
I felt cold.
“How furious?”
“She accused Nicole of sabotaging her career.”
My stomach tightened.
Angela continued.
“She said Nicole thought she was better than everyone.”
I stared at the photograph on my desk.
Nicole had always been careful about professional standards.
She refused to approve projects she believed were unsafe or financially exploitative.
I knew that.
But I had never heard about Denise's involvement.
Angela said she'd look for old records.
After the call, I sat quietly.
The situation was becoming more complicated.
Denise hadn't simply married a man with a daughter.
She'd married someone connected to a woman she might have resented years earlier.
I wondered whether that resentment had influenced how she treated Maya.
But I reminded myself not to jump to conclusions.
I needed proof.
Not suspicion.
That evening, Jordan asked if he could help me in the garage.
I agreed.
We worked on an old wooden bench.
He sanded the edges.
I checked the joints.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“Mom called me.”
I stopped working.
“What did she say?”
He looked down.
“She told me to come stay with her.”
I nodded.
“How do you feel about that?”
He hesitated.
“I don't know.”
I put down the screwdriver.
“Jordan, you don't have to decide anything because you're afraid of upsetting someone.”
His eyes filled.
“She said you were turning me against her.”
I took a breath.
“That's not what I want.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“You're allowed to love your mother.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
“And you're allowed to tell the truth about what happened.”
He swallowed.
Then whispered, “She asked me to delete our messages.”
My stomach tightened.
“What messages?”
“The ones about Maya's car.”
I looked at him.
“Did you?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
Then Jordan reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
“There are more.”
I stared at him.
He opened a conversation with Denise.
Several messages appeared.
At first, they concerned the car.
Then the trust.
Then something I hadn't expected.
A message from Denise read:
Once Marcus signs the new insurance documents, everything will be handled.
I frowned.
“Insurance documents?”
Jordan nodded.
“She said you were changing policies.”
My stomach tightened.
“I haven't changed any insurance policies.”
Jordan looked frightened.
Then he scrolled.
Another message appeared.
Make sure Maya doesn't mention the garage camera.
I stopped breathing.
The garage camera.
I had installed it two years earlier.
It recorded the driveway.
The silver sedan.
And the moment Denise snatched the keys.
But now I wondered what else it might have recorded.
I stood slowly.
“Jordan, thank you.”
He looked worried.
“Are we in trouble?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Then I walked into my office.
Opened the security application.
And searched the recordings from the previous month.
At first, I saw nothing unusual.
Cars entering.
Packages arriving.
Workers repairing the driveway.
Then I found a recording from three weeks earlier.
Denise stood beside the garage cabinet.
She was talking to an unfamiliar man.
He handed her a folder.
She opened it.
Then pointed toward Nicole's old files.
I turned up the audio.
The man's voice was faint.
But I heard one sentence clearly.
“If Marcus signs this, Maya won't be able to stop the transfer.”
My blood turned cold.
May you like
Then Denise replied.
“He won't even know what he's signing.”
