Chapter 3
Nicole's necklace was the last piece of jewelry she had worn before she died.
A simple gold chain.
A small heart-shaped pendant.
Inside the pendant was a tiny photograph of Maya as a baby.
It wasn't expensive compared to the jewelry I could afford now.
But its value to my daughter was beyond money.
Nicole had worn it every day.
When she became ill, she placed it in my hand.
“Give this to Maya when she's old enough to understand how much I loved her.”
I had waited until Maya's fifteenth birthday.
She cried when I gave it to her.
Then she wore it almost every day.
Now she stood at the top of the stairs holding an empty jewelry box.
My hands began shaking.
“Come here, baby.”
Maya slowly walked downstairs.
She opened the box.
The velvet lining was empty.
“Denise said she was taking it to be cleaned,” Maya whispered.
I looked at my wife.
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Where is it?”
Denise swallowed.
“It's being repaired.”
I stared at her.
“You just said it was being cleaned.”
She looked away.
“It's the same thing.”
“No, Denise. It isn't.”
I held out my hand.
“Give me the receipt.”
She crossed her arms.
“I don't have it.”
“Then tell me the jeweler.”
She said nothing.
I felt anger rising again.
“Where is my daughter's necklace?”
Denise snapped, “I don't know!”
Maya started crying.
I turned immediately.
“Baby, look at me.”
She raised her eyes.
“We're going to find it.”
Denise laughed bitterly.
“You can't promise that.”
I faced her.
“Watch me.”
I called my younger sister, Angela.
She lived twenty minutes away and had always been close to Maya.
When she answered, I explained that I needed a safe place for my daughter that evening.
Angela didn't ask unnecessary questions.
“Bring her here,” she said.
I helped Maya pack.
Clothes.
Schoolbooks.
Her laptop.
The small framed photograph of Nicole that sat beside her bed.
When I entered Maya's room, I stopped.
It looked different.
Smaller.
Most of the decorations were gone.
Her old bookshelf had been moved.
The desk I bought for her sixteenth birthday was missing.
I looked around.
“Where's your desk?”
Maya hesitated.
“Brandon needed it for his studio.”
My stomach tightened.
“And your bookshelf?”
“Tasha wanted it.”
I stared at my daughter.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
She lowered her head.
“Denise said I had too much stuff.”
I looked at the empty corner where Maya used to keep her drawings.
I remembered buying her that desk.
She had been so excited.
She stayed awake half the night arranging colored pencils.
Now the space was bare.
I sat on the bed beside her.
“Maya, has Denise been making you give up other things?”
She twisted her hands.
“Sometimes.”
“What things?”
“My bathroom shelf. Some clothes. The money Grandma sent me for my birthday.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much money?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
“Did she take it?”
Maya nodded.
“She said I owed extra for utilities.”
I felt sick.
My daughter had been paying utilities in a house where her stepsiblings contributed nothing.
I placed my arm around her.
“I'm sorry.”
She looked up.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I should have noticed.”
She shook her head.
“You were working.”
“That doesn't mean I shouldn't have listened.”
Maya began crying again.
“I didn't want you and Denise to fight.”
I pulled her close.
“Protecting our relationship was never your responsibility.”
She hugged me tightly.
For several minutes, I simply held her.
Then we left.
Denise stood in the hallway.
“Marcus, you're really taking her away?”
I stopped.
“I'm making sure she's safe while we address what you've done.”
She pointed toward Maya.
“You're teaching her that she can ruin a marriage whenever she doesn't get her way.”
I stepped closer.
“No. I'm teaching her that she doesn't have to accept mistreatment to keep peace.”
Denise's face hardened.
“You'll regret this.”
I looked at her.
“I already regret trusting you.”
At Angela's house, Maya finally relaxed.
Angela opened the door wearing pajamas and slippers.
The moment she saw Maya's face, she pulled her into a hug.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Maya began crying again.
Angela looked over her shoulder at me.
Her expression changed.
“What happened?”
I explained everything after Maya went upstairs.
Angela listened.
When I mentioned Nicole's necklace, she covered her mouth.
“No.”
I nodded.
“It's missing.”
Angela sat down.
“Marcus, Nicole trusted us with that necklace.”
“I know.”
Her eyes filled.
“You have to find it.”
“I will.”
The next morning, I called our family attorney, Patricia Howard.
She had handled my estate planning for years.
I sent her copies of the bank statements and receipts.
Patricia reviewed them carefully.
“Marcus, we need to act quickly.”
I leaned forward.
“What should I do?”
“First, contact the financial institutions and report the disputed transactions. We need to determine who authorized them and how.”
I nodded.
“Then?”
“Preserve every document and message. Do not threaten anyone or attempt to take property by force.”
“I understand.”
She continued.
“Because Maya is a minor, there may be additional legal concerns about how her funds were accessed.”
My stomach tightened.
“Can we recover the money?”
“We'll pursue every lawful option. But I don't want to promise recovery until we understand where it went.”
I appreciated her honesty.
After the call, I visited the bank.
A manager reviewed the account history.
Several transactions had been initiated using authorization documents submitted months earlier.
I requested copies through the appropriate process.
Then I noticed something.
The account information contained an address that wasn't mine.
A post office box.
I stared at it.
“Who changed this mailing address?”
The manager checked the records.
“It appears the change was submitted in June.”
June.
The same month Denise began charging Maya rent.
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Can you provide the authorization record?”
“We'll process your request.”
I thanked her.
Then I drove to a jewelry store Denise had mentioned several times.
She had once told me a friend worked there.
The manager recognized my description of Nicole's necklace.
My heart began pounding.
“Have you seen it?”
He hesitated.
“I'd need to review our records before confirming anything.”
I explained the situation and provided my contact information.
He promised to follow proper procedures.
Two hours later, my attorney called.
“Marcus, the jewelry store contacted us.”
I pulled into a parking lot.
“What did they find?”
“The necklace was sold to a secondhand jewelry dealer.”
My chest tightened.
“By Denise?”
“The transaction records identify her.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can we get it back?”
“Possibly. The dealer has agreed to preserve the item while ownership is verified.”
Relief washed through me.
But Patricia continued.
“Marcus, there's something else.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“What?”
“The necklace wasn't the only item sold.”
My stomach dropped.
“What else?”
She hesitated.
“Several pieces of jewelry belonging to Nicole's estate.”
I stared through the windshield.
And suddenly, I remembered the locked drawer in my bedroom.
The drawer containing the things I had promised to keep safe for Maya.
May you like
I turned the car around.
I needed to know exactly how much of my daughter's mother had been taken from her.
