Chapter 8
I had never felt rage like that before.
Not when I discovered the rent.
Not when I learned about the loan.
Not even when Detective Brooks told me about the insurance application.
But hearing that Jane had my mother's name on a list made something inside me snap.
I stood in my living room, gripping the phone.
"What did she want with my mother?"
Detective Brooks spoke carefully.
"We don't know yet."
"Was she planning to take money from her too?"
"That's one possibility we're investigating."
I looked toward the kitchen.
My mother was sitting with Malik, helping him sort through old family photographs.
She had no idea what I had just heard.
I lowered my voice.
"My mother is seventy-three years old."
"I understand."
"She trusts people."
"Then we need to make sure she knows what's happening."
I closed my eyes.
"Please tell me Jane can't just walk into her life again."
The detective explained that investigators were pursuing the appropriate legal safeguards and that we should document any unwanted contact.
I thanked her.
Then I walked into the kitchen.
My mother looked up.
"Dennis, baby, you look pale."
I pulled out a chair.
"Mom, we need to talk."
She listened as I explained the latest discovery.
For several seconds, she remained silent.
Then she said, "I knew something wasn't right with Jane."
I stared at her.
"What?"
She looked toward Malik.
"I didn't want to cause problems in your marriage."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you notice?"
She folded her hands.
"About a year ago, Jane asked me questions about my retirement accounts."
I felt sick.
"What kind of questions?"
"She wanted to know whether I had a financial adviser."
I stared at her.
"Did you tell her?"
"Only that I handled my own money."
She continued.
"Then she asked whether I needed help paying bills online."
I closed my eyes.
"Mom."
"I told her I was fine."
I reached for her hand.
"Did she ever ask for your passwords?"
My mother hesitated.
"Once."
My heart pounded.
"What did you say?"
"I told her no."
I exhaled.
She squeezed my hand.
"Dennis, I may be old, but I'm not helpless."
I gave a weak smile.
"I know, Mom."
She looked toward Malik.
"But I didn't realize what she was doing to him."
Her eyes filled.
"I wish I had."
Malik reached across the table.
"Grandma, it's okay."
She shook her head.
"No, sweetheart. It isn't okay."
He looked down.
She continued.
"But we're going to make things right."
That evening, I received a call from Raymond.
He had reviewed the latest financial documents.
"There may be another way to recover some of Malik's losses," he explained.
I sat down.
"Tell me."
"The loan proceeds appear to have been obtained through deception. We can work with the lender and investigators to determine the appropriate remedies."
"Does that mean Malik won't have to repay it?"
"Not automatically. But we're disputing the circumstances and pursuing restitution."
I nodded.
"What about the credit card?"
"The issuer has opened a fraud investigation."
"And the additional application?"
"It's been stopped."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time, there was movement in the right direction.
But I knew the process could take months.
Raymond continued.
"I also reviewed the trust documents."
My heart tightened.
"Is Malik's inheritance safe?"
"Yes. The unauthorized distribution request was rejected. We've added safeguards."
I breathed deeply.
"Thank God."
"There's something else."
I looked up.
"What?"
"The trust allows certain educational distributions before Malik turns twenty-one."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"His mother anticipated college expenses. With proper documentation, the trustee can use part of the funds for tuition."
I looked toward Malik's bedroom.
He had been worrying about transferring to a university.
His grades were excellent.
But money had always been a concern.
I felt tears rising.
"She really thought of everything."
Raymond's voice softened.
"She tried to."
After the call, I went upstairs.
Malik was sitting at his desk, staring at a college application.
I knocked.
"Can I come in?"
He nodded.
"Sure."
I sat beside him.
"What are you working on?"
"Georgia State."
I smiled.
"Still your first choice?"
He nodded.
"I don't know if I can afford it."
I looked at him.
"Let's talk about that."
I explained the educational provision in his mother's trust.
He listened silently.
Then he whispered, "Mom planned for college?"
"Yes."
His eyes filled.
"Even when she was sick?"
I nodded.
"She wanted you to have choices."
He stared at the application.
Then covered his face.
I put my arm around him.
"You don't have to decide everything tonight."
He shook his head.
"I just wish she could see me."
My throat tightened.
"She would be proud of you."
He looked up.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
He leaned against me.
For a long moment, we sat together.
Then he whispered, "Dad, I don't want to be scared of money anymore."
I nodded.
"Then we'll learn how to manage it together."
He wiped his cheeks.
"And I don't want to be afraid to tell you when something goes wrong."
I looked directly at him.
"You never have to hide a problem from me to protect my feelings."
He nodded.
"I know."
But I could see he was still learning to believe it.
Over the following weeks, the investigation continued.
Jane and Brenda faced charges connected to the alleged identity fraud and financial exploitation.
The court process began.
Malik met with a counselor.
At first, he hated the idea.
He told me he wasn't weak.
I explained that asking for help had nothing to do with weakness.
Eventually, he agreed.
And slowly, I noticed changes.
He slept better.
He laughed more.
He stopped apologizing for every small mistake.
One afternoon, he came home from work and placed his pay stub on the table.
"Dad, can you help me make a budget?"
I smiled.
"Absolutely."
We sat together for two hours.
We calculated his earnings.
His school expenses.
His savings goals.
And the amount he wanted to keep for himself.
When we finished, he looked surprised.
"I can actually save money."
I laughed.
"Yes, son."
He shook his head.
"I thought I was terrible with money."
I looked at him.
"You were trying to survive a situation designed to keep you short of it."
He nodded slowly.
Then smiled.
"I'm going to do better."
I reached across the table.
"You're already doing better."
That evening, Tasha called.
She had started working full-time at the boutique.
She was paying rent for her room.
And she had sold the Mercedes after learning more about its financing.
She told me she wanted to meet Malik.
I asked him first.
He thought about it.
Then agreed.
But he had one condition.
"I don't want her pretending everything is normal."
I nodded.
"Then tell her."
When Tasha arrived, Malik spoke calmly.
"I appreciate your apology. But I need time."
She nodded.
"I understand."
He continued.
"And if we're going to have any relationship, you have to be honest with me."
Tasha's eyes filled.
"I will."
I watched them.
There was no magical forgiveness.
No instant happy family.
But there was honesty.
That was more than we'd had for years.
A few days later, Raymond called with another update.
The court had ordered preservation of assets connected to the investigation.
Some funds in Jane's accounts could potentially be used toward restitution.
I felt relief.
Then Raymond said, "Dennis, there's another matter."
I sat down.
"What?"
"Jane's attorney has sent a proposal."
I frowned.
"What kind of proposal?"
"She wants to negotiate a financial settlement related to the marriage."
I stared at the phone.
"After everything she did?"
Raymond remained calm.
"Family-law claims and criminal allegations are separate matters. We'll respond appropriately."
I exhaled.
"Fine."
Then he added, "But there's something you should know before we do."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What?"
"Jane claims you promised her an ownership interest in the house."
I stood.
"That's not true."
"I know you disagree."
"Raymond, I bought that house before I married her."
"We have the deed and purchase records."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Then why is she claiming that?"
Raymond paused.
"Because she's produced a document."
I froze.
"What document?"
"A property agreement bearing your signature."
My blood ran cold.
I stared toward the staircase.
Then whispered, "I never signed anything like that."
May you like
Raymond's voice became serious.
"Then we may have found another forgery."
