Chapter 3 - The Man Who Wasn't Supposed to Be There
I barely slept.
Jasmine stayed in the guest bedroom.
I remained in my study, reviewing documents until the sun began rising over Atlanta.
The more I examined the records, the worse the situation looked.
Walker Family Consulting had received money from an account I established to cover approved household support expenses.
The transfers were larger than Jasmine had ever mentioned.
Some were labeled medical assistance.
Others were marked educational support.
But several payments went directly to companies I didn't recognize.
The total was already approaching ninety thousand dollars.
And that didn't include the attempted loan.
At six-thirty, my mother called.
"Robert, baby, are you awake?"
Her voice was warm.
Familiar.
The sound of someone who had spent my entire life worrying about whether I was eating enough.
"I'm awake, Mama."
"You sound tired."
"Long night."
She paused.
"Everything all right?"
I looked toward the window.
I didn't want to burden her.
But I also didn't want to lie.
"Jasmine and I are having some problems."
My mother became quiet.
"About money?"
I frowned.
"How did you know?"
She sighed.
"Patricia called me yesterday."
I sat up.
"What?"
"She wanted to know why you send me so much every month."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth."
I closed my eyes.
"What truth?"
"That it's between you and me."
Despite everything, I smiled.
My mother had always been direct.
She continued.
"She kept asking whether I really needed ten thousand dollars."
I rubbed my forehead.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
"Don't apologize."
Her tone softened.
"Robert, you don't owe me an explanation for loving me."
My throat tightened.
"I know."
"And you don't have to keep sending so much if it's causing problems."
I shook my head.
"It's not causing problems."
"Baby."
I exhaled.
"The money isn't the problem. Someone else's expectations are."
She remained silent for a moment.
Then said, "I need to tell you something."
My pulse quickened.
"What?"
"Patricia asked whether I would sign a paper."
I froze.
"What paper?"
"She said it would show you were supporting me financially."
I stood.
"Did you sign it?"
"Of course not."
Relief washed through me.
"Why not?"
"Because she wouldn't explain what it was for."
I closed my eyes.
My mother continued.
"She got upset when I refused."
I felt anger rising.
"Did she leave a copy?"
"No. But she sent a photograph to my phone."
I immediately asked her to forward it.
A minute later, the image arrived.
I opened it.
Then felt my stomach drop.
The paper was a proposed declaration stating that my mother received substantial monthly financial support and had no independent income.
It included a section suggesting that I had ongoing financial obligations that might affect my ability to repay a future loan.
Why would Patricia need that?
Then I noticed a reference number in the corner.
It matched the financing application against our house.
My mother had been dragged into the scheme too.
I gripped the phone.
"Mama, don't sign anything Patricia sends you."
"I wasn't planning to."
"And don't discuss your finances with her."
"Robert, I raised you. I know when someone is fishing for information."
I almost laughed.
"Yes, ma'am."
She softened.
"Are you safe?"
The question surprised me.
I looked around my study.
The locked cabinets.
The family photographs.
The home Jasmine and I had built together.
"I think so."
My mother was quiet.
Then she said, "Baby, don't let embarrassment stop you from asking for help."
My throat tightened.
"I won't."
We ended the call.
I immediately forwarded the photograph to Daniel Price.
He called back within minutes.
"Robert, this is significant."
"Why?"
"Because it suggests someone was collecting information to support the loan application."
I sat down.
"What should I do?"
"Come to my office. Bring every document."
By nine, I was sitting across from Daniel.
My accountant, Sharon Ellis, joined us.
Sharon had worked with my company for seven years.
She was careful, organized, and impossible to intimidate.
She opened her laptop.
"I've traced the unusual transfers."
I leaned forward.
"What did you find?"
She turned the screen toward me.
"Several payments from the household support account were routed into Walker Family Consulting."
"I know."
"But that's not all."
She clicked another document.
"The company then transferred money to accounts connected to Anthony Brooks."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
"Approximately sixty-two thousand dollars."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"We don't know yet."
Daniel leaned forward.
"But we have reason to believe Anthony may have been involved in preparing the loan application."
I rubbed my forehead.
Anthony Brooks.
Forty-one years old.
A man I had once trusted with company finances.
He had been hired after impressing me with his experience at several major corporations.
For nearly two years, he handled budgets and vendor payments.
Then Sharon discovered invoices from nonexistent subcontractors.
We investigated.
Anthony denied everything.
But when he refused to provide supporting records, we terminated his employment and referred the findings to our outside auditors.
I thought that was the end of it.
Now he was connected to my mother-in-law.
"Did he know Patricia before working for me?" I asked.
Sharon hesitated.
"We're checking."
Daniel opened another folder.
"There's something else you should see."
He showed me a company registration.
Walker Family Consulting had been established eight months earlier.
Its listed business address was a small office building in Decatur.
But the registered agent was a separate company.
Brooks Administrative Services.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Anthony."
Daniel nodded.
"Likely."
I looked at the documents.
The timing troubled me.
Eight months earlier, Jasmine began pressuring me to increase Patricia's allowance.
Six months earlier, Anthony was fired.
Four months earlier, Patricia claimed she wanted to start a business.
And two weeks earlier, someone submitted a loan application using my signature.
The events seemed connected.
But I needed evidence.
Daniel studied me.
"Robert, we also need to discuss your wife's involvement."
I looked down.
"Jasmine says she didn't sign my name."
"That may be true."
I exhaled.
"But she knew the document existed."
"Yes."
"And she didn't tell you."
"No."
Daniel paused.
"You need to decide what level of access she should have while we investigate."
The words hurt.
My wife.
The woman I married.
The person who knew my fears and dreams.
I had never imagined discussing restrictions on her access to our finances.
But I couldn't ignore the situation.
"What do you recommend?"
"Separate the discretionary accounts temporarily, preserve all records, and require dual approval for major transfers. Do it transparently and legally."
I nodded.
"I'll speak to her."
That afternoon, I returned home.
Jasmine was sitting at the kitchen island.
She looked exhausted.
"Robert."
I stopped.
"We need to talk."
She nodded.
"I know."
I placed the documents on the counter.
"Did your mother know Anthony Brooks before he worked for me?"
Jasmine froze.
I felt my stomach sink.
"You knew."
She whispered, "Robert, please."
"Answer me."
She looked down.
"Yes."
I stared at her.
"How?"
Her eyes filled.
"Anthony used to work with my father."
I felt cold.
Jasmine rarely spoke about her father.
She told me he had abandoned the family when she was young.
Patricia always changed the subject whenever his name came up.
"What father?"
Jasmine swallowed.
"My biological father."
I stared at her.
"Your father is alive?"
She nodded.
I felt my pulse hammer.
"What's his name?"
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered, "Anthony Brooks."
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
The man I fired for financial misconduct.
The man linked to the suspicious transfers.
The man involved in the attempted loan.
May you like
Was my wife's father.
And she had never told me.
