Chapter 4
I stared at the message until my eyes hurt.
Marcus had done this before?
I wanted to believe it was a lie.
Some cruel attempt to frighten me.
But after everything I had discovered, I couldn't dismiss it.
I typed a response.
Who are you?
For several minutes, nothing happened.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered, “My name is Erica Lawson.”
I had never heard the name.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know Marcus?”
She took a shaky breath.
“I used to be married to him.”
The room seemed to spin.
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“What?”
“Before you met him.”
I shook my head.
“Marcus told me he'd never been married before.”
“He lied.”
I closed my eyes.
For ten years, I had believed I was Marcus's first wife.
We had talked about marriage, children, and the future.
He had told me he wanted to build everything with me because he'd never had a family of his own.
Now a stranger was telling me he had been married before.
“Do you have proof?”
“Yes.”
“Then send it.”
A moment later, my phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared.
Marcus, younger but unmistakable, stood outside a courthouse beside a woman in a cream wedding dress.
The woman was Erica.
Then came a copy of a marriage certificate.
Marcus Bennett.
Erica Lawson.
Married twelve years earlier.
Divorced two years later.
The dates meant their marriage had ended shortly before Marcus met me.
I sat down.
“How did you find me?”
Erica hesitated.
“I've been trying to warn you for months.”
“Why?”
“Because I recognized Vanessa.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“She contacted me last year.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know whether Marcus had ever used my name to obtain credit.”
I stared at the phone.
“Vanessa knew about you?”
“Yes.”
Erica's voice became bitter.
“She told me she was helping Marcus organize his financial history. I didn't trust her, so I refused to answer most of her questions.”
I felt anger rising.
“Why didn't you contact me sooner?”
“I tried.”
“How?”
“I sent letters to your home address.”
I thought about Marcus collecting our mail.
The way he insisted on checking the mailbox first.
The envelopes I sometimes noticed missing from the usual stack.
“I never received them.”
“I suspected that.”
Erica paused.
“Listen carefully, Nia. Marcus didn't just cheat on me.”
I held my breath.
“He opened accounts in my name. He used my credit information to apply for loans. I didn't discover it until collectors started calling.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“I reported it. The accounts were closed after an investigation, and I spent years repairing the damage.”
“Was Marcus charged?”
“No. There wasn't enough evidence to establish who submitted everything. He denied it, and I couldn't prove he was responsible.”
I felt sick.
“And now he's trying to do the same thing to me.”
“That's why I contacted you.”
I looked at the photograph of Marcus and Vanessa.
“Do you think she's helping him?”
“I don't know exactly what she knows. But she was asking questions about financial records long before this anniversary trip.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Erica, will you speak to my attorney?”
“Yes.”
She answered without hesitation.
“I wish someone had helped me when it happened.”
For the first time since discovering the envelope, I felt less alone.
Not because another woman had suffered.
But because someone understood exactly how frightening it was to discover that the person you trusted most might have been using you.
I gave Erica Angela's contact information.
Then we ended the call.
I sat quietly.
My marriage suddenly looked different.
The expensive gifts Marcus bought me after arguments.
The way he insisted on managing certain household bills.
The constant requests for access to my financial accounts.
I had interpreted those things as signs of partnership.
Now I wondered which had been sincere and which had been calculated.
The next morning, Angela called.
She had spoken with Erica.
The previous marriage was confirmed.
Erica had also provided documents from the identity-theft complaints she filed years earlier.
Angela warned me not to assume Marcus was responsible for every issue simply because the circumstances were similar.
But she agreed the information was relevant.
Then she told me something that made my stomach drop.
“The notary involved in your property transfer has been identified.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Patricia Wells.”
I frowned.
“I don't know her.”
“She works for a document services company used by Bennett Residential Holdings.”
I sat forward.
“Marcus's company?”
“Yes.”
“Has she explained how my signature was notarized?”
“She claims you appeared through a remote online notarization session.”
I stared at the phone.
“That's impossible.”
“I know.”
“She says I was on video?”
“Yes.”
My hands began shaking.
“Angela, I never participated in anything like that.”
“We've requested the session records.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Someone had apparently used my identity to complete a transaction without my consent.
I didn't know how.
But I knew the truth.
It wasn't me.
Angela continued.
“We're also preserving the relevant communications and asking the lender to retain all records.”
I nodded.
Then she paused.
“Nia, there's another development.”
“What?”
“Marcus contacted my office.”
My heart jumped.
“Why?”
“He wants to negotiate.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Negotiate what?”
“He says he's willing to end the marriage amicably if you agree to a property settlement.”
I felt heat rise into my face.
“What settlement?”
Angela hesitated.
“He wants half the equity in the house, a substantial cash payment, and temporary support while he transitions into independent housing.”
I stared at the wall.
“He cheated on me and tried to transfer the house into a company he owns with Vanessa.”
“I know.”
“And now he wants me to pay him?”
“He may be entitled to assert claims through the divorce process, but that doesn't mean the court will accept his proposal.”
I took a deep breath.
“Tell him no.”
Angela replied calmly.
“I'll respond through the proper channels.”
Then she said something important.
“Nia, we're going to separate his legitimate legal rights from any misconduct. If he forged documents, that has consequences. But the divorce still needs to be handled lawfully.”
I appreciated that.
I didn't want revenge disguised as justice.
I wanted an outcome based on facts.
That afternoon, I received a video call from Marcus.
I didn't answer.
He left a voicemail.
“Nia, you're destroying our marriage over a misunderstanding.”
I listened without moving.
“Vanessa means nothing. You're my wife.”
I almost laughed.
Then his voice hardened.
“If you keep pushing this legal nonsense, you're going to regret it.”
I saved the recording.
Then I sent it to Angela.
An hour later, Jasmine arrived carrying groceries.
I showed her the documents from Erica.
She stared at the marriage certificate.
“He had another wife?”
“Yes.”
“And he never told you?”
“No.”
Jasmine set the grocery bags down.
Then she hugged me.
“Nia, this man has been lying to you since the beginning.”
I wanted to disagree.
But I couldn't.
That night, I sat on the couch looking through our wedding album.
Every photograph seemed to ask the same question.
Was any of it real?
I remembered Marcus crying during our vows.
I remembered him holding my hands and promising that I would never face anything alone.
I remembered believing him.
My phone rang.
It was Angela.
“Nia, we received the remote notarization recording.”
I sat upright.
“What does it show?”
She hesitated.
Then she said, “Someone appeared on the call claiming to be you.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
“We don't have a confirmed identity yet.”
I gripped the phone.
“Angela, what did she look like?”
The answer came slowly.
“She had shoulder-length black hair, wore a beige blazer, and used an identification image matching your driver's license.”
I felt a cold wave move through my body.
Someone had impersonated me.
Then Angela added one final detail.
“The voice doesn't sound like yours.”
I swallowed.
“Do you recognize it?”
She paused.
“We're going to have it analyzed.”
But I already had a terrible suspicion.
Because the woman in the recording had used a phrase I had heard at the airport.
May you like
Don't make a scene.
And those words had come from Vanessa Carter.
