Chapter 3
I spent the night staring at the ceiling.
My legs ached from standing longer than my therapist recommended.
But that wasn't why I couldn't sleep.
I kept hearing Vanessa's final words.
"Don't forget what we signed."
At six in the morning, I called my father.
He answered immediately.
"Marcus?"
"Dad, I need your help."
His voice became serious.
"What happened?"
I explained everything I remembered about the folder.
The paperwork.
The signatures.
The way Vanessa had insisted I sign before our wedding.
My father listened quietly.
Then he said, "Don't touch anything until we speak with Patricia."
Patricia Greene had been our family's attorney for more than twenty years.
She'd helped my father build Bennett Development.
She'd handled major contracts.
And she'd always warned me not to sign documents I didn't fully understand.
I'd ignored that advice.
Now I regretted it.
Two hours later, Patricia arrived at my house.
She was carrying a leather briefcase.
My father followed her inside.
Nia was already there.
She'd come to help with my morning exercises.
When Patricia entered, she looked at the wheelchair beside the sofa.
Then at me.
"How are you feeling?"
I gave a tired smile.
"Physically? Better."
She nodded.
"Emotionally?"
I looked down.
"Not so good."
She sat across from me.
"Tell me about the documents."
I explained everything.
Vanessa had brought them to my apartment before the accident.
She said we needed to finalize certain financial arrangements.
I remembered signing something related to an investment account.
But I couldn't remember the details.
Patricia frowned.
"Did you keep copies?"
I shook my head.
"Vanessa took the folder."
My father rubbed his forehead.
"Marcus."
I looked at him.
"I know."
He sighed.
"We'll deal with the mistake. First, we need to understand what happened."
Patricia asked several questions.
Then she made phone calls.
She contacted my financial adviser.
Requested copies of recent agreements.
And asked whether any new account authorizations had been submitted.
While we waited, Nia helped me complete a short set of exercises.
My legs were stronger than they'd been a month earlier.
But I still needed rest.
She noticed I was distracted.
"Mr. Bennett?"
I looked at her.
"Yes?"
"You're pushing too hard."
I gave a bitter laugh.
"That's becoming a habit."
She smiled faintly.
"Recovery doesn't happen faster because you're angry."
I looked at her.
She was right.
But I couldn't stop thinking about Vanessa.
Three years.
Three years of gifts.
Vacations.
Anniversaries.
Promises.
Had she been pretending the entire time?
I sat back down.
"Nia, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Did I deserve what happened last night?"
Her expression changed.
"No."
I looked away.
"I hid the truth about my recovery."
She nodded.
"You did."
I appreciated her honesty.
She continued.
"But nobody deserves to be humiliated because they use a wheelchair."
I swallowed.
"And you didn't force Vanessa to say those things."
I nodded.
She was right.
I had handled the situation badly.
But Vanessa had shown me something I couldn't ignore.
That afternoon, Patricia returned with several documents.
Her expression was serious.
"Marcus, we found something."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She placed a copy of an agreement on the table.
I leaned forward.
At the top were the words:
BENNETT PRIVATE INVESTMENT TRUST.
I frowned.
"I've never heard of this."
Patricia nodded.
"That's part of the problem."
She turned the page.
My name appeared.
Marcus Bennett.
So did Vanessa's.
I stared at the document.
"What is this?"
"It's an agreement relating to certain investment assets and proposed management authority."
My father leaned forward.
"Management authority for whom?"
Patricia looked at me.
"Vanessa."
My stomach dropped.
I continued reading.
The agreement appeared to authorize Vanessa to participate in decisions involving a substantial investment account.
I felt sick.
"How much money?"
Patricia hesitated.
"Approximately four million dollars in assets were referenced."
I stared at her.
Four million.
My personal investment account.
Money I'd earned through years of work.
Money my father had helped me learn to manage responsibly.
"What?"
My father looked furious.
"Marcus, why would you sign this?"
I shook my head.
"I didn't know what it was."
Patricia raised one hand.
"We need to determine exactly what was signed, what authority it created, and whether any transfers occurred."
I nodded.
Then she showed me the final page.
My signature appeared.
I recognized it.
But something felt wrong.
The date was two days before my accident.
I remembered that day clearly.
Vanessa had brought the folder while I was getting ready for a business meeting.
She'd told me the papers were routine.
I'd signed quickly.
I closed my eyes.
"She lied to me."
Patricia nodded.
"Possibly. We need to review the circumstances carefully."
My father stood.
"Can we revoke this?"
"We're taking steps to challenge or terminate any authority that was improperly obtained."
I exhaled.
Then Patricia continued.
"There's another issue."
I looked up.
"What?"
"An attempt was made to transfer funds from the account."
My heart stopped.
"How much?"
She looked at the document.
"One million, eight hundred thousand dollars."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then my father whispered, "My God."
I stared at the page.
"Did it go through?"
Patricia shook her head.
"The transaction was flagged and placed on hold pending verification."
I nearly collapsed with relief.
But then she added something that made my blood run cold.
"The transfer request was submitted yesterday morning."
Yesterday.
The same day Vanessa humiliated me in the ballroom.
The same day she learned I could walk.
I looked at my father.
Then at Nia.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
Vanessa hadn't been cruel because she was afraid of my condition.
She had been preparing to leave.
She'd wanted the money before I discovered the truth.
And the moment she realized I wasn't helpless, she panicked.
But there was one question I couldn't answer.
Who was supposed to receive the money?
Patricia turned the final page.
The recipient account belonged to a company.
Silver Crown Holdings LLC.
I had never heard of it.
My father leaned closer.
Then his face changed.
"Marcus."
I looked at him.
"What?"
He pointed toward a name on the company registration.
"Look."
I leaned forward.
And there it was.
Vanessa's signature.
Beside another name.
Daniel Cross.
I stared at the unfamiliar man listed as her business partner.
Then Patricia spoke quietly.
"Marcus, we need to find out who Daniel Cross is."
May you like
Because whoever he was, Vanessa had been planning a future with him.
And she'd been planning to pay for it with my money.
