Chapter 3
I didn't confront Nia immediately.
Every instinct in my body wanted to march into the living room and demand answers.
But something told me that if I did, the truth might disappear before I could reach it.
I sat at my desk, gripping my phone.
"Jasmine, have you told anyone else?"
"Only Aunt Denise."
My sister.
Denise had always been fiercely protective of Jasmine.
Sometimes I had resented how easily my daughter confided in her.
Now I understood why.
"What did Denise say?"
"She told me to keep everything."
"Everything?"
"Texts, emails, bank notices. She helped me make copies."
I exhaled.
"Good."
There was another pause.
"Dad, are you angry with me?"
I closed my eyes.
"Never for telling me the truth."
"But the five thousand dollars..."
"That money was for school and housing. Don't let anyone make you ashamed of needing help."
She breathed shakily.
"I was going to pay you back."
"I know."
"No, Dad. I really was."
"Jasmine, I believe you."
She fell silent.
I waited.
Then she whispered something I would remember forever.
"I missed you."
Those three words stripped away every excuse I had made for myself.
I had been living twenty minutes from my daughter.
Twenty minutes.
Yet somehow, I had allowed our relationship to become scheduled dinners, holiday calls, and occasional messages.
I had mistaken financial support for emotional presence.
"I missed you too, sweetheart."
After promising to visit the next morning, I ended the call.
Then I opened my banking application.
For the first time in years, I began examining every connected account.
I owned a construction company that had grown steadily over two decades.
I understood contracts.
I understood budgets.
But I had made a dangerous mistake.
I believed knowing business finances meant I automatically knew my household finances.
Nia managed several shared expenses.
I had trusted her.
I searched through recent transfers.
Most looked familiar.
Mortgage payments.
Insurance.
Utilities.
Business reimbursements.
Then I noticed three transfers to an account labeled "Household Reserve."
I didn't recognize the account number.
The first transfer was eight thousand dollars.
The second was six thousand.
The third was forty-five hundred.
I leaned closer.
All three had occurred within the previous four months.
I opened the transaction details.
The transfers had been initiated through a linked household login.
Nia's login.
A cold feeling moved through me.
I called the bank's fraud department.
After verifying my identity, I asked the representative to explain the transfers.
"Mr. Carter, these transactions were authorized electronically."
"By whom?"
"The linked user profile associated with your household account."
"Can you identify that profile?"
"Yes. The profile belongs to Nia Carter."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Was this account opened under my name?"
"The receiving account is held at another institution. We can begin a review, but we cannot provide its ownership details."
I thanked her and requested the appropriate dispute paperwork.
Then I asked the bank to remove Nia's authority to initiate new transfers from my personal accounts.
The representative explained that changing access would not undo existing transactions.
I understood.
I wasn't looking for revenge.
I was trying to stop whatever was happening.
When I left the study, Nia was waiting in the hallway.
Her arms were folded.
"Well?"
I looked at her.
"Well, what?"
"What did your daughter say about me?"
"Enough."
She laughed bitterly.
"Of course."
I walked toward the kitchen.
She followed.
"You're really going to let her turn us against each other?"
I filled a glass with water.
"Nia, did you use Jasmine's information to apply for credit?"
Her expression froze.
Then she laughed.
"That's ridiculous."
"Did you?"
"No!"
"Then why is your phone number on her application?"
She blinked rapidly.
"Maybe she put it there."
"Why would she?"
"Because she wants to frame me!"
I put the glass down.
"Jasmine didn't even know the accounts existed until she checked her credit."
"That's what she says."
I studied my wife's face.
There was no concern for Jasmine.
No outrage that someone might have stolen her identity.
Only anger at being questioned.
"What is Household Reserve?" I asked.
Nia's eyes widened.
"What?"
"The account you transferred eighteen thousand five hundred dollars into."
She looked away.
"That's money I put aside."
"From my personal checking account?"
"Our household needs savings."
"We already have emergency savings."
"This is different."
"How?"
She rubbed her temples.
"Marcus, I'm exhausted. I don't want to do this tonight."
I felt something inside me go still.
"Then we'll do it tomorrow with statements."
Nia stared at me.
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm asking for honesty."
She stepped closer.
"You know what your problem is?"
I didn't answer.
"You let Jasmine make you feel guilty about her mother."
My chest tightened.
"Leave her mother out of this."
"Every time that girl wants something, you remember your dead wife and hand over your wallet."
I stared at Nia.
She had crossed a line I never imagined she would cross.
Jasmine's mother, Angela, had died from complications following surgery when Jasmine was sixteen.
There had been no warning.
One week, our family was making plans for summer.
The next, I was choosing flowers for a funeral.
Nia knew how deeply that loss had affected us.
And she had just turned it into a weapon.
"Don't mention Angela again."
Nia's expression shifted.
For a moment, she looked ashamed.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Her entire posture changed.
She silenced the call.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Nobody."
The phone rang again.
I noticed the name before she turned it over.
Derrick.
Her younger brother.
"Answer it," I said.
"I'll call him later."
"Answer it."
Nia stared at me.
Then she stepped away and accepted the call.
"Derrick, not now."
I couldn't hear his words.
But I heard hers.
"I said I handled it."
A pause.
"No. Marcus doesn't know."
She turned toward me.
Our eyes met.
Her mouth fell open.
She immediately ended the call.
"Marcus—"
"What doesn't Marcus know?"
Her face lost its color.
"Nothing."
I looked down at her phone.
Then back at her.
"Nia, you have one chance to start telling me the truth."
She began crying.
"I was going to fix everything."
My stomach dropped.
"Fix what?"
She shook her head.
"Please don't hate me."
And before she could explain, a new message appeared on her phone.
The screen lit up between us.
I could read the sender's name.
Derrick.
May you like
And beneath it were seven words.
"Did you tell him about the house?"
