Chapter 4
I spent the next morning sitting in a conference room with my sister and our attorney.
Olivia Grant placed a thick folder on the table.
Her expression was serious.
"Marcus, we need to separate what we know from what we're still investigating."
I nodded.
My hands were shaking.
I hadn't slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Maya crying beside Hope's bassinet.
Then I saw Julian's name on the financial documents.
Then Claire's face when she admitted forging my signature.
I felt sick.
Olivia opened the folder.
"The lender has confirmed a loan application was submitted."
I swallowed.
"Did they approve it?"
"Yes, partially."
My stomach tightened.
"How much was disbursed?"
"One hundred and eighty thousand dollars."
I stared at her.
One hundred and eighty thousand.
Money I never borrowed.
Money my company might be forced to dispute.
Money Julian apparently received through a company I had trusted him to manage.
I covered my face.
Jasmine placed a hand on my shoulder.
Olivia continued.
"The electronic authorization records are inconsistent with your usual signing process."
I looked up.
"Does that help?"
"It may. We're challenging the signatures and preserving the evidence."
I nodded.
I wanted to shout.
I wanted to drive to Julian's office.
Demand every dollar back.
Ask him how he could betray me.
But Olivia had warned me not to confront him.
The financial institutions were reviewing the matter.
Investigators had been contacted.
And I needed to protect my company.
I took a breath.
"What's our next step?"
Olivia explained the process.
Secure the accounts.
Review authorized users.
Preserve documents.
Contact the lender.
And cooperate with investigators.
I listened carefully.
For once, I wasn't going to let anger decide what happened next.
Then Jasmine opened another file.
"Marcus, there's a separate concern."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Julian has been contacting some of your employees."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Offering private investments."
I closed my eyes.
My employees.
People who trusted me.
People who believed Bennett Construction was a stable place to work.
I looked at Jasmine.
"Did anyone give him money?"
She hesitated.
"At least one person."
My heart sank.
"Who?"
"Tasha Reed."
I knew Tasha.
She was our office manager.
Thirty-two.
Married.
Mother of two.
She had worked for me for six years.
She was careful and hardworking.
The kind of employee every business owner hoped to have.
I swallowed.
"How much?"
Jasmine looked down.
"Twenty-eight thousand dollars."
I covered my mouth.
Tasha's husband had recently undergone surgery.
They had been saving for medical expenses and household repairs.
Now I wondered whether Julian had taken those savings too.
I felt sick.
I immediately called Tasha.
She answered with a trembling voice.
"Mr. Bennett?"
I closed my eyes.
"Tasha, I need to ask about an investment you made with Julian."
Silence.
Then she began crying.
I sat down.
"Tasha?"
She whispered,
"He said it was safe."
My chest tightened.
"How much did you give him?"
"Twenty-eight thousand."
I swallowed.
Then she added,
"He said Claire recommended it."
My stomach dropped.
My wife had apparently helped Julian gain the trust of my employees.
I took a breath.
"Tasha, I'm so sorry."
She began sobbing.
"Mr. Bennett, that was our emergency money."
My eyes filled.
"I know."
She continued.
"Michael thinks we might have to sell the car."
I covered my face.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I told her what I could honestly promise.
"We're reporting the suspected fraud. I'll make sure you receive the appropriate contact information."
She nodded through tears.
I continued.
"And you won't lose your job because you trusted someone connected to this company."
She began crying harder.
"Thank you."
After the call, I sat quietly.
I had always believed my responsibility was to protect the company.
Now I understood that protecting the company meant protecting the people who depended on it.
I looked toward Jasmine.
"We need to find out whether anyone else invested."
She nodded.
"Already working on it."
That afternoon, I returned home.
Maya was sitting on the living room floor.
She had arranged her dolls in a circle.
Hope slept nearby in the bassinet, safely supervised by my mother, Evelyn Bennett.
Mom had arrived that morning to help.
She was sixty-seven.
Her silver hair was neatly styled.
And she had the calm expression that always made me feel like a child again.
When she saw me, she stood.
"Marcus."
I walked toward her.
Then suddenly, I began crying.
She pulled me into her arms.
For a long time, she didn't speak.
Then she whispered,
"My son, you don't have to carry this alone."
I held her tighter.
I had spent years trying to be strong.
Trying to provide.
Trying to fix everything.
Now I felt completely broken.
Mom kissed my forehead.
"You're still a good father."
I shook my head.
"I let Maya carry secrets."
She looked at me.
"You didn't know everything."
I swallowed.
"But I knew something was wrong."
Mom nodded slowly.
"Then learn from it."
I looked up.
She continued.
"Don't waste the chance to become the father your children need."
My eyes filled.
I nodded.
That evening, Maya asked me to read her a story.
I sat beside her bed.
She clutched Blueberry against her chest.
After a few pages, she interrupted.
"Daddy?"
I smiled.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are you mad at Hope?"
My heart stopped.
I closed the book.
"Why would you think that?"
She looked down.
"Because Mommy said she's Uncle Julian's baby."
I felt tears rise.
I took her hand.
"Maya, Hope is a baby."
She nodded.
I continued.
"She hasn't done anything wrong."
My daughter looked up.
"Then you still love her?"
I swallowed.
I thought about the paternity report.
The betrayal.
The pain.
Then I remembered holding Hope after she was born.
Her tiny fingers curling around mine.
The way she slept against my chest.
I nodded.
"Yes."
Maya smiled through tears.
"Good."
Then she whispered,
"Because I already love her."
My heart broke.
I pulled her into my arms.
For a long time, we stayed together.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
Julian and Claire stood outside a private bank.
Between them was a man I didn't recognize.
Beneath the photograph were six words.
ASK ABOUT THE BABY'S TRUST FUND.
My stomach tightened.
Hope was five days old.
She had no trust fund.
At least, not one I knew about.
I looked at the message again.
Then another arrived.
CLAIRE SIGNED THE DOCUMENTS BEFORE THE DELIVERY.
My hands began shaking.
May you like
Because suddenly, I realized Julian's financial scheme might involve more than my business.
It might involve the newborn sleeping in our home.
