Chapter 3
Raymond pounded on the front door hard enough to rattle the glass.
"Evelyn! I know you're home!"
My mother stood beside me in the garage, gripping the old operating agreement.
I could see her trying to decide what to do.
For years, Raymond had been the person she called whenever something went wrong.
Now he was standing outside our house, shouting like he owned it.
"Don't open it," I said.
She nodded.
But Raymond kept pounding.
"Malik! Come outside!"
I walked toward the kitchen, my mother following closely.
Through the front window, I could see Raymond standing on the porch in an expensive charcoal suit.
He was fifty-five, broad-shouldered, and always dressed as if he were about to walk into a board meeting.
Behind him stood a woman holding a leather briefcase.
I recognized her.
Patricia Sloan.
She worked in the administrative office at Carter Brothers Construction.
Raymond had introduced her as the company's legal coordinator during a holiday party two years earlier.
My mother switched on the porch speaker.
"Raymond, leave."
His head jerked toward the camera.
"Evelyn, we're family. Don't embarrass yourself."
"Then stop shouting on my porch."
"I need to talk about Malik's living arrangements."
I leaned toward the microphone.
"There are no living arrangements to discuss."
Raymond's jaw tightened.
"Malik, this is exactly the immature behavior I warned your mother about."
I stared at his face through the glass.
For months, his words had made me feel small.
Now I saw them differently.
He wasn't trying to teach me responsibility.
He was trying to make me doubt myself.
"We found Dad's company agreement," I said.
Raymond stopped moving.
"What agreement?"
"The one saying he owned sixty percent."
Patricia turned toward him.
His expression changed for a fraction of a second.
Then he smiled.
"Those documents are outdated."
"Then you won't mind explaining what replaced them."
His smile disappeared.
"Evelyn, open the door."
"No," my mother said.
Raymond stepped closer.
"You're making a serious mistake."
She looked at me.
Then she spoke calmly.
"The only mistake I made was letting you handle everything after Daniel died."
She switched off the speaker.
Raymond stood outside another minute before finally leaving.
But Patricia lingered.
She glanced once toward the front window.
Then she placed a business card beneath the doormat.
I watched until she returned to the car.
"Mom, did you see that?"
She nodded.
We waited until Raymond's car disappeared down the street before opening the door.
The card contained Patricia's office number.
On the back, someone had written three words.
Call me alone.
I stared at the message.
"What does that mean?"
My mother took the card.
"I don't know."
For a moment, we considered calling immediately.
Then she shook her head.
"Not before we find our own lawyer."
That afternoon, we searched for an estate attorney with experience in family businesses.
We found Denise Walker, a woman in her forties whose office was located downtown.
She agreed to review the papers the next morning.
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father's name beside that sixty-percent ownership figure.
I remembered Raymond telling me the construction company barely survived after Dad died.
I remembered how quickly Raymond bought a new house two years later.
I remembered the expensive cars, the vacations, and the stories about how he had single-handedly saved the business.
Had all of that been built from something my father left behind?
The next morning, Denise studied our documents carefully.
She didn't interrupt us.
When I finished explaining everything, she leaned back.
"First, Malik, the property records strongly suggest that you hold a fifty-percent ownership interest in your home. We need to confirm the current recorded title and the terms of the trust, but your uncle cannot simply order you out based on the paper he handed you."
I felt my shoulders relax.
My mother reached for my hand.
Denise continued.
"Second, the company agreement raises serious questions. Your father's ownership interest may have passed into a trust for your benefit. We need to determine whether it was properly administered."
"What if Raymond sold the shares?" I asked.
"That depends on the agreement and whether anyone had legal authority to make the transfer."
I looked at her.
"Could he have taken them?"
"I won't speculate without the records. But we can request an accounting."
She examined the eviction notice.
"This document is particularly concerning."
"Why?"
"Raymond identifies himself as the property manager, but I don't see proof that either owner authorized him to issue this notice."
My mother shook her head.
"I never did."
Denise made a note.
"We'll address that."
Then she looked at the copy of my father's letter.
Her expression softened.
"Your father was thinking about your security when he made these arrangements."
I nodded.
For the first time since opening the envelope, I felt something other than anger.
I felt grateful.
Dad had known he might not always be there.
And he'd tried to make sure I would be protected.
After the meeting, my mother and I drove home in silence.
Halfway there, her phone rang.
Patricia Sloan.
My mother looked at the screen.
Then she answered.
"Hello?"
Patricia's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Mrs. Carter, I need to speak with you and Malik."
My mother glanced at me.
"About what?"
"About Raymond."
I leaned closer.
Patricia continued.
"I was at your house yesterday because he ordered me to bring documents for you to sign. I didn't know Malik had found the original papers."
"What documents?" I asked.
There was a pause.
"Documents that would have transferred control of the property."
My chest tightened.
"To Raymond?"
"To a company he controls."
My mother stopped the car at the side of the road.
"Why are you telling us this?"
Patricia's voice shook.
"Because I helped prepare those papers. And I didn't know until recently that Raymond had been giving me false information about who actually owned the house."
I looked at my mother.
Her hands were trembling on the steering wheel.
"Can you prove it?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Then come to our lawyer's office."
Patricia hesitated.
"I'll need protection from retaliation. Raymond controls my job, and he's already threatened to ruin my career."
"We'll let the attorney handle that," my mother said.
Patricia took a shaky breath.
"There's something else."
I closed my eyes.
"What?"
"The house wasn't his only target."
My mother gripped the phone.
"Explain."
Patricia's voice became even quieter.
"Raymond has been trying to gain control of Malik's trust before his twenty-first birthday."
I stared through the windshield.
My birthday was only four months away.
And suddenly, the timing of Raymond's demands made horrifying sense.
May you like
He wasn't trying to teach me independence.
He was trying to push me out before I could discover what I owned.
