Chapter 6
I stared at my phone.
“Claire's name?”
Angela confirmed it.
“The investigators found financial records in the warehouse. Several old account numbers appear to match the scheme Claire described.”
I looked toward the staircase.
My wife was upstairs.
Our daughter was sitting beside me, still wiping tears from her cheeks.
And the past was reaching into our home again.
“Does this mean Claire is involved now?” I asked.
“We don't know. Some records are old. Others appear to have been copied recently.”
I took a slow breath.
“What should I do?”
“Nothing until her attorney reviews the situation. Don't confront anyone or attempt to investigate the warehouse yourself.”
I agreed.
After ending the call, Jada looked at me.
“What happened?”
I sat beside her.
“The police found records connected to Darius. Your mother's name appears in some of them.”
She went pale.
“Is Mom going to prison?”
“I don't know.”
She began crying again.
I placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Listen to me. We have to let the investigation establish what happened.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered, “I wish I'd never answered Darius's message.”
I understood.
But wishing couldn't change what had happened.
Only honesty and responsibility could help us move forward.
That afternoon, Claire met with her own attorney, Rachel Montgomery.
Rachel was a careful, experienced lawyer who specialized in complex financial investigations.
After reviewing the documents Claire provided, she arranged for Claire to give investigators a formal statement under appropriate legal advice.
I wasn't present.
That was difficult.
For fourteen years, Claire and I had handled nearly everything together.
Now we needed separate legal counsel because our interests and responsibilities weren't identical.
I spent the afternoon in my study.
The photograph of Jada at eight still lay facedown.
I picked it up.
Her handwriting looked so small.
BEST DADDY EVER.
I remembered the day she gave it to me.
It was Father's Day.
She had made pancakes with too much sugar and served them on a paper plate.
Then she climbed onto my lap and whispered, “Can I call you Daddy forever?”
I had laughed.
“Only if you promise to keep making pancakes.”
She had giggled.
“Deal.”
I sat down heavily.
I wondered how we had traveled from that moment to a police station in the middle of the night.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Jada.
Dad, can we talk?
I walked upstairs.
She sat on her bed holding a small wooden box.
When I entered, she looked nervous.
“I found something.”
She opened the box.
Inside were childhood drawings, birthday cards, and a photograph of us at the beach.
At the bottom was a letter.
She handed it to me.
“I wrote this when I was twelve. I never gave it to you.”
I unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was messy.
Dear Dad,
Sometimes I wonder why my other dad didn't want me.
I know you're my real dad in all the ways that matter.
But I'm scared that one day you'll get tired of me too.
I love you.
Jada.
My throat closed.
I looked at her.
She was crying silently.
“I didn't know how to tell you.”
I sat beside her.
“You could have told me anything.”
She shook her head.
“I thought you'd be hurt.”
I looked at the letter.
“I wish I'd known you were carrying that fear.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“When Darius contacted me, he said he'd spent years trying to reach me. He said Mom kept us apart because she wanted you to replace him.”
I felt anger rise.
But not at Jada.
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to.”
She looked down.
“He told me stories about when I was a baby. He remembered the name of my stuffed rabbit.”
I nodded.
“That must have felt important.”
“It did.”
She swallowed.
“Then he started asking me for help. And I thought if I said no, he'd disappear again.”
I stared at my daughter.
She had stolen money.
She had made dangerous decisions.
She had ignored every warning I gave her.
But beneath it all was a frightened child desperate to earn a father's love.
I put the letter down.
“Jada, you never had to earn my love.”
She began sobbing.
I pulled her into my arms.
“You had it from the beginning.”
We stayed like that for a long time.
Then she whispered, “I want to make things right.”
I nodded.
“Then start by telling Angela every detail you remember. Even the things that make you look bad.”
She took a shaky breath.
“I will.”
That evening, Claire returned home.
She looked exhausted.
Her attorney had advised her about the risks of her past conduct and the need to cooperate truthfully.
She sat beside me in the living room.
“Marcus, I have something to tell you.”
I looked at her.
“I'm listening.”
She folded her hands.
“When Jada was a baby, Darius used my name to open several accounts. I knew some of the information was false, and I helped him.”
I remained quiet.
“He promised we would make enough money to start a business. But the operation became bigger. I wanted out.”
“What happened?”
“He threatened to take Jada.”
My stomach tightened.
“He said if I reported him, he'd tell the police I organized everything.”
Claire began crying.
“I left him. I moved. I changed my number.”
“And then you met me.”
She nodded.
“You gave us a home. You never asked for anything except honesty.”
I looked away.
“And you couldn't give me that.”
She began crying harder.
“No.”
For a long time, we sat in silence.
Then I asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Claire, did you know Darius was involved in criminal activity when he contacted you six months ago?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“And you didn't warn Jada?”
“I thought I could keep him away.”
I stood.
I couldn't sit there anymore.
“Your fear almost cost her freedom.”
Claire covered her face.
“I know.”
I walked toward the window.
Outside, the streetlights glowed against the dark sky.
I loved my wife.
But I didn't know how to trust her.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Ellis.
I answered.
“Mr. Bennett, we located Darius Cole.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
“At a motel outside Macon.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Ellis added something unexpected.
“He had a second firearm and several documents identifying your daughter.”
I gripped the phone.
“What documents?”
May you like
Ellis hesitated.
“Instructions for making her appear responsible for the robbery.”
