Chapter 5
The first thing I did the morning after my wedding was call Rebecca Monroe.
Not a wedding planner.
Not a travel agent.
A lawyer.
Marcus sat beside me in our hotel suite.
His tuxedo jacket lay across a chair.
My wedding dress hung near the window.
Neither of us had slept much.
The image of Evelyn holding my braid still haunted me.
But the message about Evergreen Holdings had changed everything.
Rebecca answered on the second ring.
"Nia?"
"Rebecca, I need help."
She immediately heard something in my voice.
"What happened?"
I told her everything.
The haircut.
The security video.
The letter.
The trust.
The message.
When I finished, she was silent.
Then she said, "Both of you need to preserve every document you have."
Marcus leaned closer.
"Can we stop my mother from moving money?"
Rebecca answered carefully.
"That depends on the trust terms, who controls the accounts, and whether any unauthorized transfers occurred. We need the original documents."
Marcus rubbed his face.
"I don't even know which accounts exist."
"Then that's where we begin."
Rebecca scheduled a meeting.
She also advised us not to confront Evelyn about the financial records until we understood them.
I agreed.
But Marcus looked torn.
"She's my mother."
I turned toward him.
"I know."
"She's not a stranger."
"I know that too."
He looked at me.
"I don't want to destroy her."
I took his hand.
"Marcus, asking for the truth isn't destroying someone."
His eyes filled.
I continued.
"She made choices. Now we need to understand what those choices were."
He nodded slowly.
We met Rebecca that afternoon.
She listened carefully.
Then examined the documents I had found.
The statements referenced Evergreen Holdings.
A company registered several years earlier.
According to public records, its listed manager was a woman named Patricia Wells.
I didn't recognize the name.
Marcus frowned.
"Neither do I."
Rebecca looked at us.
"That doesn't necessarily mean anything improper. But it's worth understanding."
She explained that the family trust might own interests in companies we knew nothing about.
The transactions could be legitimate.
Or they could indicate misuse.
We needed proof.
I appreciated her caution.
After the wedding, I was desperate for justice.
But I didn't want anger to make us careless.
The next morning, Marcus contacted the attorney who originally drafted Robert's estate documents.
His name was Harold Finch.
He had retired three years earlier.
But his office still maintained records.
When Marcus explained who he was, Harold grew quiet.
"Marcus Carter?"
"Yes."
"Robert's son?"
"Yes, sir."
Harold took a long breath.
"I've wondered when I'd hear from you."
Marcus looked at me.
"Why?"
"Because your father left very specific instructions."
My stomach tightened.
"About the trust?"
"Yes."
Harold explained that Robert had established a trust containing two rental properties, investment accounts, and an ownership interest in a small commercial building.
Evelyn had been appointed as one of two trustees.
The other was a financial professional named Charles Benton.
Marcus frowned.
"I've never heard of him."
Harold sighed.
"Mr. Benton died four years ago."
I looked at Marcus.
That was one year after Robert's death.
Harold continued.
"Under the trust terms, a successor trustee should have been appointed."
"Was one?"
"I don't know. My office didn't handle the later administration."
Marcus stared at the phone.
"Why wasn't I told about any of this?"
Harold was silent.
Then he said, "Your mother was supposed to provide annual statements once you reached the age specified in the trust."
Marcus closed his eyes.
He had received nothing.
Not a statement.
Not a letter.
Not a single explanation.
After the call, he sat motionless.
I put my arm around him.
"Marcus?"
He shook his head.
"My father worked his whole life."
"I know."
"He used to tell me that everything he built was for our future."
His voice cracked.
"And Mom told me it was all gone."
I hugged him.
For a long time, he didn't speak.
Then he whispered, "Why would she lie to me?"
I had no answer.
Later that evening, we received another message.
This time from Lorraine.
Marcus, your mother knows you're asking questions. Be careful. She's contacting people connected to Evergreen.
Marcus immediately called her.
Lorraine answered nervously.
"Marcus?"
"Aunt Lorraine, what's going on?"
She hesitated.
"Your mother came to my house."
"What did she want?"
"The letter."
Marcus frowned.
"What letter?"
"Your father's original letter."
I felt cold.
Lorraine continued.
"She said I had no right to give it to you."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"Did she threaten you?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
Lorraine swallowed.
"She said if I didn't stop helping you, she'd reveal something about my husband."
Marcus stared at the phone.
"What something?"
Lorraine began crying.
"I don't know."
I took a breath.
Evelyn wasn't simply defending herself.
She was trying to frighten people into silence.
I looked at Marcus.
He seemed to realize the same thing.
"Do you still have copies of the letter?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Keep them safe."
Lorraine sniffled.
"I will."
After the call, Marcus looked at me.
"I don't recognize my own mother anymore."
I held his hand.
"I know."
He stared toward the window.
"All these years, I thought she was protecting our family."
His voice grew bitter.
"Now I think she was protecting herself."
The following morning, Rebecca contacted us.
She had obtained publicly available corporate records relating to Evergreen Holdings.
And she'd discovered something unusual.
The company had purchased a property shortly after Charles Benton's death.
The purchase price was substantial.
But the ownership structure was complicated.
Rebecca wanted us to review the details carefully.
We met her that afternoon.
She placed a property record on the table.
Marcus leaned forward.
Then froze.
I looked at him.
"What?"
He pointed at the address.
"That's my father's old commercial building."
I stared at the document.
Evergreen Holdings had acquired it.
But Robert's trust was supposed to own an interest in that building.
Marcus looked at Rebecca.
"Did my mother sell it?"
Rebecca frowned.
"That's what we need to determine."
Then she turned another page.
"The transaction was authorized by someone claiming to act for the trust."
Marcus stared at the signature.
His face drained of color.
"That's not my signature."
I leaned closer.
The document bore his name.
May you like
Marcus Carter.
And beneath it was a signature that looked almost exactly like his.
