Chapter 2
I pressed play.
Vanessa screamed at me to stop.
I ignored her.
The recording began with my father sitting at the dining table.
He wore his mustard-colored cardigan and reading glasses.
A stack of documents lay in front of him.
Vanessa stood beside his chair.
She was holding a pen.
I remembered that day.
I'd been visiting a construction site outside Atlanta.
Vanessa told me Dad had spent the afternoon watching television.
She said they had enjoyed lunch together.
She even sent me a photograph of the meal she'd prepared.
Now I watched the truth unfold.
Vanessa leaned over my father.
She pointed repeatedly at the papers.
He shook his head.
She slammed her hand onto the table.
Then she grabbed the documents and pushed them toward him again.
My father rose.
Vanessa stepped in front of him.
He tried to walk away.
She caught his arm.
I felt my jaw tighten.
Dad pulled free and moved toward the hallway.
Vanessa followed.
The recording ended when they left the camera's view.
I looked up.
"What were those papers?"
Dad swallowed.
"Your mother's trust."
My stomach tightened.
"My mother's trust?"
He nodded.
"Vanessa wanted me to sign documents giving her authority over the property."
I stared at my wife.
She shook her head frantically.
"That's not what happened."
Dad looked exhausted.
"She told me you had already agreed."
I felt cold.
"Agreed to what?"
"To transfer control of the family property into a new investment company."
I stared at him.
The family property was more than our current house.
My mother, Lorraine Bennett, had inherited several small rental properties from her parents.
Before her death, she established a trust to protect them.
The rental income helped pay for my education.
It also provided financial security for Dad.
When I turned thirty, I became a future beneficiary, but Dad retained lifetime rights and independent management protections.
I'd never tried to interfere.
Those properties belonged to my parents' legacy.
Why would Vanessa want control of them?
I turned toward her.
"Explain."
She began crying.
"Marcus, I was trying to help."
"Help whom?"
"Us."
I stared at her.
"By pressuring my father to sign legal documents without telling me?"
She looked away.
I stepped closer.
"Answer me."
She raised her voice.
"Your father has no idea what those properties are worth!"
Dad slowly straightened.
"I know exactly what they're worth."
Vanessa turned toward him.
"Then you know how much money you're wasting!"
The room became silent.
My father looked at her.
"Your mother-in-law bought those properties with her own inheritance," he said quietly. "She wanted them kept safe."
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
"Everything is about Lorraine!"
My chest tightened.
"Don't talk about my mother like that."
She laughed bitterly.
"Of course. Saint Lorraine."
I stared at her.
For five years, Vanessa had acted respectful whenever my mother's name came up.
She visited her grave with me.
She helped arrange flowers on the anniversary of her death.
She told me she wished she'd known the woman who raised me.
Now I wondered whether any of that had been genuine.
Dad looked at me.
"There's another recording."
I felt sick.
"Another?"
He nodded.
"Tuesday morning."
Vanessa moved toward the hallway.
"I'm leaving."
I stepped aside rather than block her.
"You're free to leave. But we're not finished discussing this."
She grabbed her handbag.
"You'll regret treating me like a criminal."
Then she hurried upstairs.
I looked at Dad.
His cheek was still red.
My shame returned immediately.
"Dad, please sit down."
He hesitated.
I moved a chair closer but kept my distance.
He slowly sat.
I brought him a glass of water.
His hands trembled as he accepted it.
I had never noticed how fragile he could look.
Dad had always seemed larger than life.
When I was a boy, he could lift heavy engine parts with one hand.
He taught me how to repair bicycles.
He coached my football team.
He stood in the rain at every school event because he never wanted me to look into the crowd and find an empty seat.
Now he was seventy.
His beard had turned gray.
His movements were slower.
And I'd struck him because I refused to listen.
"Are you hurt?" I whispered.
He touched his cheek.
"It stings."
I looked down.
"I should take you to a doctor."
He nodded slowly.
"That would be wise."
His calmness hurt even more than anger would have.
I called my sister, Danielle.
She was forty, worked as a registered nurse, and lived twenty minutes away.
When I explained what happened, she became silent.
Then she asked, "You hit Dad?"
I closed my eyes.
"Yes."
Her voice hardened.
"Marcus, what is wrong with you?"
"I know."
"No. I don't think you do."
I swallowed.
"Please come."
She took a breath.
"I'm on my way."
After ending the call, I looked at Dad.
He was staring at a photograph on the mantel.
It showed Mom holding me on my tenth birthday.
She had died the following year after a long illness.
Dad never remarried.
When I asked why, he always smiled.
"Your mother was enough love for one lifetime."
I sat across from him.
"Dad, why didn't you tell me Vanessa was pressuring you?"
He looked at me.
"I tried."
My stomach tightened.
"When?"
"Three weeks ago."
I remembered.
He called while I was at work.
Said he needed to discuss something important about Vanessa.
I'd been irritated.
She'd already told me he was becoming suspicious and difficult.
I told him we would talk later.
But later never came.
Dad continued.
"I called again last Sunday."
I closed my eyes.
I remembered that call too.
Vanessa had been crying because Dad supposedly accused her of stealing.
She told me he was confusing documents.
I'd told him to apologize.
Without asking what happened.
I covered my face.
"I'm sorry."
Dad looked away.
"I know you are."
But his voice carried no comfort.
He wasn't ready to forgive me.
And I couldn't blame him.
Danielle arrived twenty minutes later.
She rushed toward Dad.
"Oh, Daddy."
She examined his cheek.
Then she turned toward me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"You actually hit him."
I nodded.
She shook her head.
"Mom would be heartbroken."
The words cut through me.
Dad reached for her hand.
"Danielle, enough."
She looked at him.
"Daddy, he needs to understand."
"I think he does."
She stared at me.
I couldn't look at her.
We arranged for Dad to be examined at an urgent care clinic.
Before leaving, he asked me to save copies of the security recordings.
I did.
Then I opened the footage from Tuesday.
The video showed Vanessa entering Dad's bedroom while he was outside gardening.
She opened a drawer.
Removed a small black folder.
Then took photographs of several documents.
Afterward, she placed everything back exactly as she'd found it.
I stared at the screen.
Dad had never mentioned this incident.
I turned toward him.
"Did you know she searched your room?"
He looked confused.
"No."
My stomach tightened.
The black folder contained trust documents, property records, and copies of my mother's estate papers.
Vanessa had been studying them.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message arrived from an unfamiliar number.
Marcus Bennett, your wife has already submitted the property transfer application.
I stared at the screen.
Another message followed.
If your father doesn't sign by Friday, the financing arrangement collapses.
I looked at Dad.
"What financing arrangement?"
His expression changed.
"What?"
I showed him the message.
May you like
His face went pale.
Then he whispered, "Son, your wife has been trying to borrow money against properties she doesn't own."
