Chapter 4
I read Derrick's message twice.
Then I looked at Nia.
"What about the house?"
She grabbed her phone and locked the screen.
"Marcus, please."
"Don't ask me to calm down. Tell me what your brother meant."
Nia pressed her fingers against her forehead.
"There's a situation."
"What situation?"
"Derrick needed help."
I stared at her.
"Help with what?"
"His business."
Her brother had started three businesses in five years.
A landscaping company.
A car-detailing service.
A delivery operation.
Each one had failed.
And each failure somehow became somebody else's responsibility.
I had already loaned Derrick ten thousand dollars two years earlier.
He had repaid less than a quarter.
"Nia, what did you do?"
She swallowed.
"He had investors who were threatening to pull out."
"What does that have to do with our house?"
She looked at the floor.
"I signed some paperwork."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"What paperwork?"
"It was supposed to be temporary."
"Nia."
"A guarantee."
I took one step backward.
"Tell me you didn't use this property as collateral."
She burst into tears.
"I thought I could handle it!"
For a few seconds, I couldn't speak.
I had purchased our home before we married.
Later, I had added Nia to the deed because I wanted her to feel secure.
It was an act of trust.
Not permission to gamble with our future.
"How much?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"Marcus—"
"How much?"
"Seventy-five thousand."
I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter.
"Seventy-five thousand dollars?"
She sobbed.
"Derrick promised he would pay it back."
"Who lent him the money?"
"A private lender."
"Did you sign in my name?"
"No."
I studied her.
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"Yes."
"Then explain how you could pledge this house without me knowing."
She wiped her cheeks.
"I told them we owned it together. They said my signature was enough for the paperwork they needed."
My mind raced.
A lender might have accepted her signature for a limited interest or might have processed defective documents.
Either way, I needed an attorney.
Immediately.
"When?"
"Three months ago."
Three months.
I thought about every dinner we had shared.
Every evening we watched television together.
Every time she kissed me goodnight.
All while keeping this from me.
"Did the lender give you money?"
"Some went directly to Derrick's company."
"How much?"
"Fifty thousand."
"And the rest?"
She hesitated.
"Fees. Interest. Old debts."
My stomach turned.
"You involved our home in a deal you didn't understand?"
"I thought Derrick would fix it!"
"That is not an answer!"
My voice finally broke through the room.
Nia flinched.
I stepped away and lowered it again.
"Did you use Jasmine's identity for any part of this?"
"No."
"Then why are there accounts in her name?"
Nia began shaking.
"I didn't open them."
"Whose idea was it?"
She stared at the floor.
I already knew the answer.
"Derrick?"
She covered her face.
I felt sick.
"Did you give him Jasmine's information?"
"I didn't think he would use it."
I stared at her.
"What did you give him?"
"He said he needed to verify family contacts for an application."
"Which information?"
"Her birthday. Her old address. A copy of an insurance document."
I closed my eyes.
That document contained identifying information Jasmine had entrusted to our household.
"And you gave it to him?"
Nia nodded.
"Without asking her?"
Another nod.
I turned away.
For a moment, I was afraid I might say something I could never take back.
I had trusted this woman with the most important things in my life.
My home.
My marriage.
My daughter.
And now those things were tangled in secrets I couldn't even begin to understand.
"I'm calling my attorney," I said.
Nia stepped forward.
"Please don't."
"I have to."
"Derrick could go to jail."
I looked at her.
"And Jasmine could spend years repairing her credit because of what he did."
"He didn't mean—"
"Stop."
She fell silent.
"Stop telling me what Derrick meant. Stop telling me what Jasmine should forgive. Stop asking me to protect everyone except the person who was harmed."
Nia stared at me.
I walked to the study and called my attorney, Robert Hayes.
Robert had handled contracts for my company for almost fifteen years.
He answered after two rings.
"Marcus, everything okay?"
"No."
I explained what I knew.
The strange transfers.
Jasmine's fraudulent credit accounts.
The possible property guarantee.
Robert listened without interrupting.
Then he asked one question.
"Have you signed any property documents in the last six months?"
"No."
"Have you approved any new loans secured by the residence?"
"No."
"Then don't sign anything now. Preserve the documents and messages. I'll get the public property records, and we'll contact the lender."
"Can we protect the house?"
"We'll find out exactly what was filed before deciding what to challenge."
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.
"Robert, I need someone to help Jasmine too."
"I can refer her to an attorney who handles identity theft and consumer credit disputes."
"Thank you."
Before hanging up, Robert added something.
"Marcus, don't let anyone talk you into resolving this privately before we know what happened."
I promised I wouldn't.
After the call, I found a text from Denise.
"Jasmine told me everything. Call me when you can."
I called her immediately.
She answered angrily.
"Please tell me you're finally listening."
"I am."
Denise fell silent.
Then her voice softened.
"What happened?"
I told her.
Not everything.
I didn't yet understand everything.
But enough.
When I mentioned Derrick, she cursed under her breath.
"I knew something was wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"Three weeks ago, he came to Jasmine's workplace."
I froze.
"What?"
"He asked her to sign a paper confirming that she lived at your address."
My heart pounded.
"Did she?"
"No. She called me because it sounded strange."
I sank into my chair.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Denise was quiet.
Then she answered.
"She was afraid you'd tell her to give Nia's family another chance."
I covered my eyes.
Denise continued.
"Marcus, I love you. But you've spent years asking that girl to be the bigger person."
Every word landed.
"She was sixteen when Angela died. She needed her father. Instead, she learned to make herself smaller so your new wife wouldn't get upset."
I couldn't speak.
"I know you love Jasmine," Denise whispered. "But love has to feel safe."
I looked toward the study door.
For the first time, I understood how badly I had failed to provide that safety.
"I'm going to fix what I can," I said.
"Then start by showing up."
The next morning, I drove to Jasmine's apartment.
She opened the door wearing an old college sweatshirt.
Her eyes were swollen.
When she saw me, she tried to smile.
"Hey, Dad."
I couldn't remember the last time I had seen her look so uncertain around me.
I reached for her.
She hesitated.
Then she stepped into my arms.
I held her tightly.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She began crying against my shoulder.
And just as I was about to tell her everything, I noticed a white envelope taped to her apartment door.
Her name was printed across the front.
I gently pulled it free.
Inside was a letter from a collection agency.
Demanding payment on an account she had never opened.
But what frightened me most wasn't the amount.
May you like
It was the mailing address of the original creditor.
The same address listed on paperwork for Derrick's business.
