Chapter 4
I stared at the phone long after Allison stopped speaking.
A document bearing my signature.
A sale of my ownership interest.
A company my mother had helped build.
And I hadn't agreed to any of it.
Dad looked at Denise.
"Tell me you didn't know."
She began crying.
"Marcus, please."
He shook his head.
"Tell me."
She looked away.
That was enough.
Dad stood.
"Get your things."
Denise stared at him.
"What?"
"I want you to stay somewhere else while we investigate."
Her mouth fell open.
"You're throwing me out?"
"I'm asking you to leave for now."
She began shouting.
"This is my home!"
Dad's voice remained calm.
"And Maya deserves to feel safe in it."
I felt tears rising.
Denise pointed at me.
"She's turning you against me!"
Dad shook his head.
"No."
He looked at the documents.
"Your choices are doing that."
Denise grabbed her handbag.
For a moment, I thought she'd leave quietly.
Instead, she turned toward me.
"You've always wanted this."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"To get rid of me."
I felt something break inside me.
"Denise, I spent seven years trying to make you love me."
She looked stunned.
My voice cracked.
"I shared my room with Lauren when she first moved in."
I wiped my cheeks.
"I helped you plan Dad's birthday parties. I defended you when Grandma said you treated me differently."
Denise opened her mouth.
I continued.
"I even stopped talking about my mother because you said it made you uncomfortable."
Dad turned toward me.
His face changed.
"What?"
I swallowed.
"She told me I talked about Mom too much."
Denise snapped, "That's not what I said!"
I looked at her.
"You told me Olivia was dead and I needed to stop living in the past."
Dad covered his mouth.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then he looked at Denise.
"Leave."
She stared at him.
"Marcus."
"Please."
His voice broke.
"Just leave."
Denise stormed upstairs.
I stood trembling.
Dad turned toward me.
"I'm sorry, baby."
I shook my head.
"You didn't know."
He looked devastated.
"I should have."
I wanted to comfort him.
But I was exhausted.
For years, I'd protected his happiness by hiding my pain.
Now I didn't have the strength to do it anymore.
"Dad, I need some space."
He nodded immediately.
"Of course."
I went upstairs.
My bedroom hadn't changed much since high school.
There were books on the shelf.
Photographs of Mom.
A small wooden jewelry box she'd given me before she died.
I sat on the bed.
Then finally began crying.
Not because of the money.
Not because of the forged signature.
But because I'd spent seven years believing that if I tried hard enough, Denise would eventually see me as family.
Now I understood she never intended to.
A soft knock came at my door.
Dad.
"Can I come in?"
I wiped my eyes.
"Yeah."
He entered holding an old photograph.
It showed Mom standing beside him outside a tiny construction office.
They were young.
Smiling.
Dad held a hammer.
Mom held a stack of papers.
I stared at it.
"Where did you find that?"
He smiled sadly.
"In my desk."
He sat beside me.
"Your mother believed in me before anybody else did."
My eyes filled.
Dad continued.
"When I started the company, I couldn't get a loan."
I listened.
"Olivia used part of her inheritance to help me buy equipment."
He looked down.
"I promised I'd protect her investment."
My throat tightened.
"And after she died?"
He sighed.
"I created the trust arrangements she wanted for you."
I stared at him.
"Then why did Denise have access?"
Dad closed his eyes.
"Because I trusted her to help manage household and business paperwork."
I looked away.
He continued.
"That was a mistake."
I swallowed.
"Did you know she was sending Lauren money?"
He shook his head.
"Not from those accounts."
I nodded slowly.
Dad reached for my hand.
"Maya, I need you to know something."
I looked up.
"Your mother's trust belongs to you."
My eyes filled.
"And we're going to protect it."
I leaned against him.
For a moment, we sat quietly.
Then Dad whispered, "I miss her."
My throat tightened.
"Me too."
He kissed my forehead.
"I'm sorry I let you feel alone."
I began crying again.
He held me until my breathing slowed.
The next morning, Raymond arrived with a forensic accountant named Olivia Harris.
She was forty-seven, with shoulder-length braids and a calm, serious expression.
She reviewed the records I'd collected.
Then asked several questions about my mother's trust.
Dad explained the original investment.
Raymond confirmed that the trust held a minority interest in Johnson Construction.
Olivia examined the suspected consent form.
She frowned.
"This signature needs independent verification."
I nodded.
"I didn't sign it."
She looked at me.
"Then we'll document that formally."
For hours, we reviewed transactions.
Some payments had legitimate explanations.
Others didn't.
Olivia identified repeated transfers through Lauren's consulting business.
She also found several withdrawals from the trust account that required further investigation.
Dad looked exhausted.
"How bad is it?"
Olivia hesitated.
"We need more records before calculating the full exposure."
I swallowed.
"Can you estimate?"
She looked toward Raymond.
Then answered carefully.
"The potentially unauthorized transactions may exceed two hundred thousand dollars."
I felt dizzy.
Two hundred thousand.
Money that had been meant to protect my future.
Dad covered his face.
For a moment, he looked like he'd aged ten years.
Then Olivia continued.
"There's another concern."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She pointed toward a document.
"Someone attempted to amend the trust's contact information."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"To redirect correspondence."
Dad stared.
"To whom?"
Olivia showed us the name.
Lauren Jade Mitchell.
My blood ran cold.
She had apparently tried to make herself the contact for my mother's trust.
I looked at Dad.
He looked furious.
Then Raymond's phone rang.
He answered.
For a moment, he listened quietly.
Then his expression changed.
"What do you mean they've scheduled a closing?"
Dad stood.
"What closing?"
Raymond looked at us.
"The proposed sale of Johnson Construction."
My heart stopped.
He continued.
"Someone has represented to a potential buyer that the owners have approved the transaction."
Dad stared at him.
"That's impossible."
Raymond shook his head.
"Not if they submitted false documents."
I felt sick.
Then Raymond added something that made the room go completely silent.
"The closing is scheduled for Friday."
May you like
It was Wednesday.
We had forty-eight hours to stop someone from selling the company my parents built.
