Chapter 3
I stared at Daniel through the security monitor.
"What properties?"
He looked startled.
As though he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
"Victoria, just open the door."
"No."
"Please."
I folded my arms.
"You came here without your attorney. You admitted you're hiding assets from Lauren. And now you want me to let you inside?"
He lowered his voice.
"It's complicated."
"Then make it simple."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Lauren thinks we're building a future together."
I almost laughed.
"Aren't you?"
"Not the way she thinks."
My chest tightened.
"What does that mean?"
He looked toward the street.
"She's been asking questions about my finances."
"Good. Someone should."
His jaw tightened.
"Victoria, this isn't funny."
"No. It isn't."
He stepped closer to the camera.
"Lauren believes I own those properties outright."
"And you don't?"
"No."
"Who does?"
He hesitated.
I watched his face.
Then I understood.
"Daniel, did you use my name to acquire them?"
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
I felt sick.
"How many documents did you sign in my name?"
"Victoria—"
"How many?"
He closed his eyes.
"I was going to explain."
"When?"
"When things settled down."
I let out a bitter laugh.
"You stole my identity and planned to explain when it became convenient?"
"Don't call it stealing."
"What would you call it?"
He looked directly into the camera.
"I did what I had to do to protect our investments."
I stared at him.
"Our investments.
He had hidden them.
He had apparently forged documents.
And now he wanted to call them ours.
I pressed the intercom again.
"Leave my property."
"Victoria, please."
"Leave, Daniel."
His expression changed.
"You'll regret making this public."
I felt my heart sink.
For sixteen years, that man had known my fears.
My ambitions.
My weaknesses.
And now he was using a familiar voice to threaten me.
"Goodnight, Daniel."
I ended the connection.
Then I saved the recording.
The next morning, I sent it to Margaret.
She listened carefully.
When it ended, she looked at me.
"That was important."
"Can we use it?"
"We'll review its admissibility and preserve the original file."
I nodded.
"Daniel admitted he used my name."
"He strongly suggested it."
Margaret opened another folder.
"I've also received preliminary property records."
I leaned forward.
She spread several pages across the desk.
Commercial buildings.
Rental units.
A warehouse complex.
And a luxury condominium.
The estimated combined value was more than nine million dollars.
I stared.
"Nine million?"
Margaret nodded.
"Approximately."
I couldn't speak.
For years, Daniel had told me we were struggling.
He had asked me to cover household expenses.
He had pressured me to sell investments.
He had even borrowed money from my mother's retirement account.
And all the while, he had been connected to millions in property.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
"How much of this belongs to me?"
"That depends on ownership records, marital property rules, financing, and whether signatures were forged."
I nodded slowly.
"Can we freeze anything?"
"We can seek appropriate preservation orders through the court handling the financial case."
I looked at her.
"Do it."
She studied me.
"Victoria, there's another issue."
"What?"
"One of the properties was used as collateral for a large loan."
"How large?"
"Three million dollars."
My stomach dropped.
"Who signed?"
Margaret hesitated.
"The loan documents bear your name."
I stared at her.
"No."
She turned the page toward me.
There it was.
Victoria Bennett.
A signature that looked like mine.
But wasn't.
I felt dizzy.
"Daniel put me on a three-million-dollar loan?"
"The documents appear to identify you as a guarantor. We need the lender's records and an examination of the signature."
I pressed a hand against my chest.
"He could destroy my finances."
"Not without facing serious questions about authorization."
I looked up.
"What do we do?"
Margaret's expression became firm.
"We notify the relevant institutions, challenge any unauthorized obligations, and pursue the legal remedies available."
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Lauren.
I almost ignored it.
But the preview caught my attention.
YOU THINK YOU'VE WON?
I opened it.
Another message appeared.
DANIEL LOVES ME. HE ONLY STAYED WITH YOU FOR YOUR MONEY.
I stared at the screen.
Then I forwarded the messages to Margaret.
She sighed.
"Do not respond."
"I wasn't going to."
Lauren sent another message.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HE PROMISED ME.
I looked at Margaret.
"She's desperate."
"Possibly."
Another message arrived.
HE SAID HE WOULD GIVE ME THE PENTHOUSE AFTER THE DIVORCE.
I froze.
The penthouse.
One of the properties in the documents.
I looked at Margaret.
"She knows about at least one property."
Margaret nodded.
"Save everything."
I did.
Then Lauren sent a photograph.
She was standing inside an expensive apartment.
White marble floors.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
A view of downtown Atlanta.
Daniel stood behind her.
His arms wrapped around her waist.
Both were smiling.
Beneath the picture, Lauren had written:
OUR FUTURE HOME.
I stared.
Then I noticed something in the background.
A framed painting hanging above the fireplace.
I recognized it immediately.
It was a painting my father had given me before he died.
An original piece by a local Black American artist.
It had disappeared from our house eight months earlier.
Daniel told me it was being professionally restored.
I looked at Margaret.
"That's my father's painting."
She leaned closer.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
My hands began trembling.
"He took it from our home."
Margaret studied the photograph.
Then she said quietly, "Victoria, we may be looking at more than hidden marital assets."
I swallowed.
"How much more?"
She pointed toward the timestamp on the photograph.
"That picture was taken four months ago."
I stared.
Four months ago.
While Daniel was telling me he couldn't afford our mortgage payment.
While Lauren was sleeping in a luxury penthouse.
While my father's painting hung above their fireplace.
I felt something inside me harden.
Not hatred.
Clarity.
"Margaret," I said, "I want every dollar accounted for."
She nodded.
"And every signature."
May you like
I looked at the photograph again.
"And I want my father's painting back."
