Chapter 5
Jasmine stood beside me while I examined the collection letter.
Her hands were trembling.
"Dad, is this another one?"
I nodded slowly.
The balance was six thousand eight hundred dollars.
It appeared to be connected to one of the accounts she had already disputed.
But the creditor's correspondence address raised a new question.
Derrick's failed delivery company had used the same commercial mailbox.
That didn't prove he owned the debt.
It did mean we needed answers.
"Has anyone else come here?" I asked.
Jasmine nodded.
"A man came yesterday."
"What man?"
"He said he was trying to locate someone who owed money."
"Did he give you a name?"
"No."
"Did you let him inside?"
She shook her head quickly.
"No. I kept the door locked."
I felt a little relief.
"Good."
She looked embarrassed.
"I thought I was being paranoid."
"You weren't."
I took photographs of the envelope and letter.
Then I placed them carefully on her kitchen counter.
"Jasmine, I want you to tell me everything you've been dealing with."
She sat at the small dining table.
For a moment, she stared at her hands.
Then she began.
It started six months earlier.
Nia had invited her to lunch.
Jasmine had been excited because she thought they might finally be building a relationship.
Instead, Nia spent the entire meal criticizing her.
Her apartment was too small.
Her graduate program was impractical.
Her clothes looked cheap.
And she needed to stop depending on her father.
"I told her I had scholarships and two jobs," Jasmine said.
I listened.
"She said that wasn't enough. She told me real adults don't run back to Daddy when things get hard."
I rubbed my jaw.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
I looked up.
"When?"
"At your birthday dinner."
I remembered that evening.
Jasmine had arrived late because she worked until six.
Nia spent dinner complaining that young people lacked discipline.
After dessert, Jasmine asked to speak to me privately.
Nia interrupted and said we needed to leave.
I had told Jasmine we could talk later.
Later never happened.
"I remember," I whispered.
Jasmine nodded.
"Then Nia started calling."
"How often?"
"Sometimes three or four times a week."
"What did she want?"
"She wanted to know how much money you gave me."
My chest tightened.
"Did you tell her?"
"No."
Jasmine stared at the table.
"Then she said she could make you think I was stealing."
I leaned forward.
"Jasmine, why didn't you block her?"
"Because she said if I did, you'd be angry with me."
I closed my eyes.
My daughter had spent years trying not to upset me.
And someone had used that fear against her.
"What happened at your apartment?"
Jasmine unlocked her phone.
She opened an audio file.
"Dad, I recorded this because she was screaming."
I nodded.
"May I hear it?"
She pressed play.
Nia's voice filled the kitchen.
"You think being his daughter gives you unlimited access to his money?"
Jasmine's recorded voice sounded frightened.
"I never said that."
"Then stop asking."
"I only asked about the emergency card."
"That card is finished."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
I looked at Jasmine.
She stared at the phone.
The recording continued.
"You want to know what happens if you keep pushing me?"
Silence.
Then Nia's voice again.
"Your father will believe whatever I tell him. He doesn't want another failed marriage."
My stomach twisted.
Jasmine's voice trembled.
"Please leave."
"One day you'll realize there's no room for you in his new life."
The recording ended.
For a long moment, I couldn't move.
I had heard my wife's cruelty with my own ears.
No misunderstandings.
No missing context that could explain those threats.
No excuses.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Jasmine wiped a tear away.
"I thought you'd be mad I recorded her."
I reached across the table and took her hand.
"I'm glad you protected yourself."
She began crying.
I held her hand until she stopped.
Then I asked about school.
Her tuition deadline had passed.
The payment I transferred would cover what she owed, but the apartment deposit had become another problem.
The card Nia froze was supposed to serve as a backup.
Without it, Jasmine had nearly lost the apartment.
"I didn't want to ask you for anything else," she said.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
She looked at me.
"But Nia said—"
"Nia was wrong."
Those words seemed to surprise her.
I repeated them.
"She was wrong about you. She was wrong to threaten you. And I was wrong not to see it sooner."
Jasmine stared at me.
Then she began crying again.
This time, I moved my chair beside hers.
I put my arm around her shoulders.
She leaned into me.
For the first time in years, my daughter didn't seem afraid to need her father.
Later that afternoon, we met with Robert and the consumer attorney he recommended, Maya Thompson.
Maya listened carefully.
She reviewed Jasmine's credit reports, the disputed accounts, the collection letter, and the recording.
Then she explained our options.
Jasmine could continue the formal identity-theft reporting process, provide the required documentation to the credit bureaus and creditors, and seek the records used to open the accounts.
Maya would help her preserve evidence and challenge inaccurate information.
She also recommended checking whether any additional accounts had been opened.
Jasmine looked frightened.
"What if there are more?"
Maya answered gently.
"Then we'll deal with them one at a time. You don't have to solve everything today."
I watched my daughter nod.
I realized how much she needed someone to speak to her without blame.
When Jasmine stepped outside to call her employer, Robert turned toward me.
"The property situation is serious."
I leaned forward.
"What did you find?"
"A document was recorded against the house."
My stomach tightened.
"Can it be challenged?"
"Possibly. The signatures and the nature of the claimed interest need to be examined."
"Did Nia sign it?"
"Her signature appears on one document."
"And mine?"
Robert paused.
"Marcus, there's a signature presented as yours."
I went completely still.
"I didn't sign anything."
"I know that's what you've told me."
"Robert, I'm telling you the truth."
He nodded.
"Then we need to treat this as a possible forgery."
I felt a cold wave move through my chest.
Nia had promised she hadn't signed my name.
Once again, the paperwork told a different story.
Then Robert turned another page toward me.
"There's something else."
I stared down.
The document listed the person authorized to receive notices on behalf of the borrower.
I recognized the name instantly.
Derrick Williams.
And beside his name was a second signature.
One I had seen thousands of times.
Nia's.
But below both signatures was a sentence that made my stomach drop.
It stated that the funds had already been disbursed in full.
May you like
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
And the date of disbursement was the same day Nia had told me she was visiting her mother.
