Chapter 2
“Play it, Nia.”
My daughter looked at me.
“Dad, are you sure?”
I nodded.
Vanessa was still kneeling beside the desk.
Her hands trembled.
“Arthur, please.”
I didn't answer.
Nia touched the screen.
The recording began.
Yesterday's date appeared in the corner.
The camera showed my empty study.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the door opened.
Marcus entered first.
Vanessa followed.
And behind them walked a man carrying a black briefcase.
I recognized him immediately.
“That's Harold Price,” I whispered.
Nia frowned.
“Who?”
“Your mother's cousin.”
Harold was a real estate attorney.
He had handled paperwork for my family years earlier.
After Evelyn died, he helped me organize several property documents.
I hadn't spoken to him in almost two years.
Now he was standing inside my study without my permission.
On the recording, Harold placed his briefcase on my desk.
Marcus opened the filing cabinet.
My filing cabinet.
The one containing my wife's death certificate, our mortgage discharge, and the original deed.
“He knew where the key was,” I whispered.
Nia looked at me.
“What key?”
I pointed at the screen.
“The cabinet key.”
Marcus removed a small envelope from the top drawer.
Then he handed it to Harold.
I leaned forward.
The envelope looked familiar.
Cream paper.
Blue handwriting.
My name written across the front.
My heart began pounding.
“That belonged to your mother.”
Nia stared at the screen.
“What?”
“It's the letter she left for me.”
I had kept Evelyn's final letter inside that cabinet for six years.
I read it every anniversary of her death.
Some nights, when the house felt too quiet, I held it just to remember the sound of her voice.
Now Marcus was handing it to another man.
Harold opened the envelope.
He unfolded the letter.
Then he placed it beside another document.
The camera captured his voice clearly.
“We need the original signature to make the transfer convincing.”
My chest tightened.
Nia turned toward me.
“Dad…”
On the recording, Vanessa leaned over Harold's shoulder.
“Can you make it look exactly like Evelyn signed it?”
I stopped breathing.
Harold answered.
“I can reproduce the handwriting, but using it as authorization would be fraudulent.”
Marcus slammed his palm onto the desk.
“Then stop lecturing me and finish the paperwork.”
I stared at my son.
Harold looked uncomfortable.
“Marcus, your father's property belongs to him. Your mother's signature doesn't change that.”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“You said you could help us.”
“I said I could prepare lawful estate documents.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“And we're paying you to do it our way.”
The recording continued.
Harold closed his briefcase.
“I won't forge a dead woman's signature.”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“You already took the money.”
Harold looked toward the door.
Then Marcus said something that made my blood turn cold.
“You know what happens if Dad discovers the loan.”
Nia grabbed my arm.
“Loan?”
I shook my head.
I had no idea what he meant.
Harold stared at Marcus.
“You told me that matter was being resolved.”
Marcus smiled coldly.
“It will be. Once he signs.”
The recording ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
I heard Nia breathing beside me.
Then she turned toward her brother.
“What loan?”
Marcus stared at the floor.
Vanessa slowly stood.
“Arthur, there is an explanation.”
I looked at her.
“Then explain it.”
She swallowed.
“Marcus was trying to protect the family.”
I almost laughed.
“By stealing his dead mother's letter?”
She shook her head.
“It wasn't stealing.”
“You entered my study without permission.”
Marcus finally spoke.
“It's my childhood home.”
I looked at him.
“And?”
“I have a right to protect it.”
I felt my anger rising.
“Protect it from whom?”
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Nia stepped forward.
“Marcus, what loan?”
He looked at her.
“Stay out of it.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“You struck our father. You lied about it. And now we have a recording of you threatening someone over a loan.”
Marcus looked toward the door.
I knew that expression.
He wanted to escape.
But before he could move, the doorbell rang.
All four of us froze.
Then a voice came from the hallway.
“Mr. Bennett? Police.”
Marcus's face went pale.
I looked at Nia.
“Let them in.”
She hurried toward the front door.
Two officers entered with Detective Angela Brooks.
I had met Angela three weeks earlier when several bank statements disappeared from my study.
At the time, I suspected someone was entering the room.
I didn't want to believe it was my son.
Angela looked at my cheek.
“Mr. Bennett, are you injured?”
I nodded.
“My son struck me.”
She examined the redness.
Then she looked toward Marcus.
“Sir, I need you to remain here.”
Marcus raised both hands.
“This is a family misunderstanding.”
Angela's expression didn't change.
“We'll determine what happened.”
I handed her the tablet.
“There's video.”
She nodded.
“We received the emergency upload.”
Vanessa began crying.
“Please, this has gone too far.”
Nia turned toward her.
“No. It went too far when you told him to sign the house away.”
Angela asked everyone to remain separated while the officers gathered statements.
I sat in my leather chair.
The room felt unfamiliar.
For forty years, this had been my place of peace.
I paid bills here.
I wrote birthday cards.
I helped my children with homework.
Now police officers stood beside my bookshelves.
And my son was being questioned about attacking me.
Angela returned after reviewing the recording.
“Mr. Bennett, we have sufficient grounds to take your son into custody regarding the assault.”
I closed my eyes.
I had expected those words.
But hearing them still hurt.
Marcus looked toward me.
“Dad?”
I opened my eyes.
He sounded younger suddenly.
Almost frightened.
“Dad, you're really going to let them arrest me?”
I swallowed.
“Marcus, you made your choice.”
His expression changed.
“You're choosing Nia over me.”
I shook my head.
“This isn't about choosing children.”
He stared at me.
“Then what is it?”
I felt tears rising.
“It's about what you did.”
He looked away.
An officer escorted him toward the door.
Vanessa began sobbing.
“Marcus!”
Before he left, my son turned.
“Dad, you don't understand what you've done.”
I looked at him.
“No, son.”
My voice broke.
“I don't understand what you've done.”
After he was gone, Angela sat across from me.
“Mr. Bennett, we also need to discuss the second recording.”
I nodded.
“The loan?”
“Yes.”
She opened a folder.
“Have you recently applied for a mortgage or home-equity loan?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Her expression tightened.
“Are you certain?”
“I paid this house off nine years ago.”
Angela exchanged a glance with another officer.
Then she placed a document on my desk.
It contained my address.
My name.
And a loan balance of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.
I stared at the page.
My hands began trembling.
May you like
Because according to the document, someone had already borrowed money against my home.
And the signature authorizing it was supposed to be mine.
