Chapter 4
I slept in the guest bedroom that night.
Nia stayed in our room.
My father went home with Danielle after she arrived and insisted he be checked by a doctor.
I offered to drive him.
He refused.
"I need some space, Marcus."
I nodded.
I deserved that.
Before leaving, he looked at me for a long moment.
"I love you, son."
My throat tightened.
"I love you too."
He touched his cheek.
"But love doesn't make what you did acceptable."
"I know."
He nodded.
"Then show me you understand."
Those words stayed with me all night.
The next morning, I met Samuel Brooks at his office.
Nia refused to come.
She claimed she was too upset.
My father attended with Danielle.
I was relieved to see that the swelling on his cheek had begun to improve.
But he avoided sitting beside me.
I understood.
Samuel greeted us and led us into a conference room.
He was a quiet man in his early sixties.
His expression was serious.
"I want to begin by clarifying something," he said.
I leaned forward.
"Go ahead."
"Mrs. Carter's estate documents have not been replaced or invalidated."
I exhaled.
"Good."
"But there have been attempts to alter how certain assets are distributed."
My father looked down.
Samuel opened a folder.
He showed us copies of the original trust documents.
Evelyn had established an irrevocable trust containing her house and investment accounts.
The trust was designed to support Nia while protecting the principal from misuse.
A professional trustee controlled distributions.
Nia could request funds for legitimate needs.
But she couldn't simply withdraw everything.
I looked at Samuel.
"Why did Evelyn do that?"
He hesitated.
"She expressed concerns about financial decisions her daughter had made."
I nodded slowly.
"Did she believe Nia stole from her?"
Samuel chose his words carefully.
"She believed there were unauthorized transactions."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
He opened another folder.
"The records she provided showed approximately seventy-six thousand dollars in disputed withdrawals over two years."
I stared at him.
Seventy-six thousand dollars.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
My father closed his eyes.
Danielle whispered, "Oh, my God."
I looked at Samuel.
"Did Nia know?"
"Mrs. Carter confronted her daughter about several transactions."
I thought about Nia's tears.
Her anger.
Her insistence that her mother judged her.
I had believed it was grief.
Now I wondered how much was guilt.
Samuel continued.
"Mrs. Carter wanted to resolve the matter privately if possible."
I swallowed.
"Did she ever recover the money?"
"Not before her death."
I looked down.
Evelyn had spent her final months worrying about money that should have been used for her care.
I felt sick.
Then Samuel placed another document in front of me.
"This is the statement your wife wanted Arthur to sign."
I stared at the page.
It claimed Evelyn had verbally instructed Arthur to release all trust restrictions.
At the bottom was a space for his signature.
I looked at my father.
"She wanted you to swear this was true?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
"Did Evelyn ever say anything like that?"
"No."
Samuel leaned forward.
"The document also claimed Arthur had been present during a private conversation between Evelyn and Nia."
I looked at him.
"Was he?"
My father shook his head.
"I wasn't."
Samuel continued.
"That's why signing it would have been improper."
I sat back.
Then I remembered the envelope Nia gave me.
I placed it on the table.
Samuel examined the contents.
He compared the letter with a verified copy.
After several minutes, he looked at me.
"This isn't the original letter."
My stomach tightened.
"What changed?"
He pointed toward the second paragraph.
The version Nia gave me suggested Evelyn wanted Nia to receive unrestricted access to her assets.
The original said the opposite.
It emphasized careful management and protection.
I stared at the difference.
"Someone changed the wording."
Samuel nodded.
"Yes."
"Can you prove who?"
"Not from this page alone."
I looked at my father.
He was staring at the table.
For the first time, I fully understood what I had done.
I had struck him for refusing to participate in something dishonest.
I turned toward him.
"Dad."
He looked up.
My voice broke.
"I'm sorry."
He remained silent.
I continued.
"I didn't ask questions. I didn't listen. I saw Nia crying and assumed you were guilty."
Tears filled my eyes.
"I hit you."
My father looked away.
I swallowed.
"I can't take it back."
"No," he said quietly.
"You can't."
I lowered my head.
"But I'll never do it again."
He studied me.
Then said, "I need time to believe that."
I nodded.
"I understand."
Danielle reached for his hand.
I knew she was angry with me.
She had every right.
After the meeting, I returned home.
Nia was waiting in the living room.
She stood when I entered.
"Well?"
I placed the folder on the table.
"The attorney showed me the originals."
Her expression changed.
"What did he say?"
"Your version of the letter was altered."
She stared at me.
"That's ridiculous."
I opened the folder.
"Then explain the differences."
She looked at the pages.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she sat down.
"Mom always wanted to control me."
I took a breath.
"This isn't about control."
She laughed bitterly.
"Of course it is."
"Nia, seventy-six thousand dollars went missing."
She froze.
I watched her carefully.
"Did you take it?"
Her eyes filled.
"Marcus, please."
I sat across from her.
"I need the truth."
She began crying.
"I was trying to fix things."
"What things?"
She shook her head.
"I made mistakes."
I leaned forward.
"What mistakes?"
Her voice became smaller.
"I borrowed money."
"From whom?"
She looked away.
"Nia."
She whispered, "People."
My chest tightened.
"What people?"
She covered her face.
"I can't tell you."
I stared at her.
Then she said something that frightened me.
"Marcus, if they find out I told you, everything will get worse."
I sat perfectly still.
"Who are they?"
She shook her head.
"Please don't ask."
I reached toward her.
"Nia, are you in danger?"
She began crying harder.
"I don't know."
For the first time, her fear looked real.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of our front door.
Taken from outside.
Just minutes earlier.
Below it were seven words.
"Tell your wife we want our money."
May you like
I looked toward the window.
Someone had been watching our house.
