Chapter 3
“What do you mean there's no money left?”
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
Jasmine looked at Renee.
Then back at me.
“Felicia said you used my college fund to pay business expenses.”
I stared at my daughter.
“That isn't true.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“She showed me a bank statement.”
My stomach tightened.
“What statement?”
“I don't know. It had numbers and your name on it.”
Renee sat across from us.
“Marcus, Jasmine has been carrying this for weeks.”
I felt sick.
For months, I had been traveling between construction sites, overseeing the expansion of my property development company.
I thought everything at home was fine.
Felicia sent cheerful photographs.
Family dinners.
Shopping trips.
Pictures of Jasmine smiling beside her.
Now I wondered how many of those smiles had been forced.
“Jasmine,” I said softly, “why didn't you tell me?”
She looked down.
“Felicia said you were already stressed.”
My heart broke.
“She said if I complained, you might have another heart attack.”
I froze.
Three years earlier, I had suffered a mild cardiac episode after months of overwork.
I recovered fully.
But Jasmine had been terrified.
She slept beside my hospital bed for two nights.
Felicia knew how deeply that experience affected her.
And she had used it.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Baby, you are never responsible for protecting me from the truth.”
Jasmine nodded.
“Even when you're busy?”
“Especially then.”
I hugged her.
Then I pulled out my phone.
I opened the college investment account.
The account had been established when Jasmine was born.
I had contributed every month.
Danielle's life insurance proceeds had also been placed in a separate trust benefiting Jasmine.
I never touched that money.
It belonged to my daughter.
The college account appeared on my screen.
The balance was exactly what I expected.
More than enough to cover her remaining educational expenses.
I turned the phone toward Jasmine.
“Look.”
She stared.
Her eyes widened.
“That's mine?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
She covered her mouth.
“Then why did Felicia say it was gone?”
I looked toward Renee.
“I intend to find out.”
I called my financial advisor.
Within minutes, he confirmed there had been no withdrawals from Jasmine's protected account.
But he mentioned something else.
“Mr. Bennett, your wife contacted our office last month.”
I sat straighter.
“About what?”
“She requested information about accessing the account.”
My stomach sank.
“What did you tell her?”
“That she wasn't an authorized trustee.”
Relief washed over me.
Then dread followed.
“Did she request anything else?”
There was a pause.
“She asked whether you could be replaced as account trustee if you became medically incapacitated.”
I stopped breathing.
Renee saw my expression.
“What?”
I held up one finger.
“Did you document that conversation?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Send the records to my attorney.”
“Of course.”
When I ended the call, I stared at the wall.
Felicia had been asking how to take control of Jasmine's money.
Not just the car.
Not just her college admission.
Her entire future.
I turned toward Renee.
“Can Jasmine stay here tonight?”
“Of course.”
Jasmine grabbed my arm.
“Daddy, are you leaving?”
I looked at her.
“Only to protect what belongs to you.”
Her eyes filled.
“Please don't fight because of me.”
I held her face gently.
“This is not your fault.”
She looked uncertain.
I continued.
“You didn't create this problem, and you are not responsible for fixing it.”
I hugged her.
“That's my job.”
Before leaving, I called my attorney, Daniel Brooks.
Daniel had handled my company's legal affairs for nearly fifteen years.
He knew my financial arrangements.
He knew Jasmine's trust.
And he knew how carefully I had structured my assets after Danielle died.
When I explained what happened, his voice changed.
“Marcus, do not confront Derrick alone.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if he knowingly accepted a car from someone who wasn't authorized to sell it, we need evidence before anyone moves it.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“What should I do?”
“Send me the documents. I'll contact the dealership and notify the appropriate authorities.”
I nodded.
“And Felicia?”
“Preserve every message. Do not threaten her or attempt to force her out illegally. We'll arrange a safe separation.”
I exhaled.
“Fine.”
Daniel hesitated.
“Marcus, there's something else.”
My heart tightened.
“What?”
“Your office contacted me yesterday.”
“About what?”
“Your chief financial officer noticed unusual payments.”
I stared ahead.
“What payments?”
“Transfers to a consulting company called Coleman Strategic Holdings.”
I closed my eyes.
Derrick.
Again.
“How much?”
“Almost one hundred and eighty thousand dollars over seven months.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“Who authorized them?”
Daniel paused.
“The records list Felicia as the approving party.”
I felt dizzy.
Felicia occasionally helped coordinate charity events for my company.
She had limited administrative access to certain expense systems.
But she had no authority to approve large transfers.
“That's impossible.”
“Apparently someone used credentials connected to her office access.”
I stared through the windshield.
I remembered countless nights when Felicia asked to borrow my laptop.
She claimed she needed to organize household accounts.
She brought me coffee while I reviewed business documents.
Sometimes she sat beside me while I logged into secure systems.
A horrible realization formed.
“She may have had my passwords.”
Daniel's voice became firm.
“Then we need to freeze access immediately.”
I looked at the clock.
It was almost six.
Felicia's deadline was approaching.
But the situation was already far worse than I imagined.
I drove directly to my office.
My CFO, Angela Morris, was waiting with several printed reports.
She had worked for me for eleven years.
She looked deeply troubled.
“Marcus, I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“Show me.”
She spread the records across the conference table.
Payment after payment.
Consulting fees.
Marketing expenses.
Vehicle transportation charges.
All connected to companies associated with Derrick.
I stared at the dates.
Some payments had occurred while I was out of town.
Others had been made during weeks when Felicia insisted she was helping with company paperwork.
“Why wasn't this caught earlier?” I asked.
Angela looked ashamed.
“The payments were divided into smaller amounts and assigned to different project budgets.”
I studied the records.
“Who approved them?”
She pointed to a digital authorization.
My name.
My credentials.
My stomach dropped.
“I didn't approve these.”
Angela nodded.
“I believe you.”
Then she turned another page.
“And this is why I asked Daniel to come.”
I read the document.
It was an internal authorization request.
It listed Felicia Bennett as a proposed emergency financial representative.
Below that was a statement claiming I had experienced recurring cognitive problems after my cardiac episode.
I stared at the words.
“What is this?”
Angela swallowed.
“Someone was trying to establish a record that you were medically unfit to manage the company.”
My heart began pounding.
I had no cognitive problems.
My annual medical examinations were normal.
I still ran every major project.
But someone had begun creating a paper trail suggesting otherwise.
Then Daniel entered the room.
He looked at the document.
His expression hardened.
“Marcus, I need you to listen carefully.”
I turned.
“What?”
“If Felicia and Derrick were trying to obtain control of your finances, selling Jasmine's car may have been only one part of their plan.”
I stared at him.
“How much bigger?”
He slid another document across the table.
It was a draft power of attorney.
My name appeared at the bottom.
The signature looked exactly like mine.
But I had never signed it.
I felt my chest tighten.
“Daniel.”
He looked at me.
“What is this?”
His answer made every hair on my arms stand up.
“Someone may be preparing to take control of your entire estate.”
I stared at the forged signature.
Then at the authorization records.
And I realized something horrifying.
May you like
Felicia hadn't simply decided my daughter didn't belong in our home.
She was trying to remove both of us from the life I had spent twenty-five years building.
