Chapter 3
I read the loan document three times.
The amount didn't change.
One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.
Borrowed against a house worth approximately one hundred and eighty thousand.
A house I had spent thirty-seven years paying for.
A house that should have been completely free of debt.
I looked at Detective Brooks.
“I never signed this.”
She nodded.
“That's what we need to investigate.”
Nia sat beside me.
Her hand rested on my shoulder.
“Dad, do you recognize the lender?”
I shook my head.
“Northbridge Private Finance.”
I'd never heard of it.
Detective Brooks turned another page.
“The loan was apparently processed seven months ago.”
I stared at her.
“Seven months?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
Seven months earlier, Marcus told me he was opening a transportation business.
He wanted to purchase several trucks and lease them to local companies.
I had offered to help him create a budget.
He refused.
He said I didn't understand modern business.
Now I wondered whether the loan was connected to his plans.
“Where did the money go?” I asked.
The detective shook her head.
“We're requesting records.”
Nia looked toward Vanessa.
My daughter-in-law sat near the window.
She had stopped crying.
Her face was pale.
“Vanessa,” Nia said.
Vanessa looked up.
“Did you know about this?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered, “Marcus handled the finances.”
Nia's expression hardened.
“That's not an answer.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“Arthur, I never wanted anyone hurt.”
I stared at her.
“Then why did you tell me to sign the deed?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Because Marcus said it was the only way to fix everything.”
My heart pounded.
“Fix what?”
She began crying again.
“I can't.”
I leaned forward.
“Vanessa, this is my home.”
She covered her face.
I continued.
“My wife died here.”
Her shoulders shook.
“My children grew up here.”
I felt tears rising.
“And someone has placed a debt against it without my permission.”
Vanessa looked at me.
For the first time, I saw something resembling shame.
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“Sorry doesn't explain anything.”
Detective Brooks spoke calmly.
“Mrs. Bennett, you may want to consult an attorney before answering detailed questions. But please understand that relevant evidence must be preserved.”
Vanessa nodded.
She looked frightened.
After the police finished their initial interviews, Vanessa left.
Nia insisted on staying with me.
She made tea.
Then she sat across from my desk.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she said, “Dad, why didn't you tell me Marcus was pressuring you?”
I looked down.
“Because I thought I could handle it.”
Her eyes filled.
“He hit you.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
She leaned forward.
“Has he done it before?”
I hesitated.
Then shook my head.
“No. Not like today.”
“Not like today?”
I closed my eyes.
Three months earlier, Marcus had grabbed my arm during an argument.
He left bruises.
I told myself he was stressed.
I told myself he didn't mean it.
I told myself it wouldn't happen again.
Nia watched my face.
“Dad.”
I looked up.
“Has he hurt you before?”
I swallowed.
“He grabbed me once.”
Her expression collapsed.
“Oh, Dad.”
I looked away.
“I was embarrassed.”
She moved beside me.
“Why?”
I laughed bitterly.
“Because I'm supposed to be the father.”
She knelt beside my chair.
“You're still our father.”
My eyes filled.
She continued.
“And being hurt doesn't make you weak.”
I covered my face.
For the first time that day, I cried.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
I cried the way I had cried when Evelyn died.
Nia held me.
And I finally allowed myself to feel everything I had been holding back.
Later that evening, we called my attorney, Renee Wallace.
She had handled my estate planning after Evelyn's death.
When I explained the situation, she immediately arranged a meeting for the following morning.
“Arthur, don't sign anything.”
“I won't.”
“And preserve every document and recording.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
She hesitated.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Do you still have the original deed?”
I looked toward the filing cabinet.
“I think so.”
“Verify it.”
After the call, Nia helped me search.
The top drawer contained tax records.
Insurance papers.
Utility bills.
But the original deed wasn't there.
I checked the second drawer.
Then the third.
Nothing.
My hands began shaking.
“Dad?”
I looked at Nia.
“It's gone.”
She stared at the open cabinet.
“Maybe you moved it.”
I shook my head.
“I kept it in the blue folder.”
We searched the entire study.
The closet.
The desk.
The shelves.
Nothing.
Then Nia remembered the recording.
“Marcus opened the cabinet yesterday.”
I nodded.
“He took the envelope.”
“What if he took the deed too?”
I stared at the empty drawer.
That seemed increasingly likely.
My phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Mr. Arthur Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“This is Leonard Hayes from Northbridge Private Finance.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why are you calling?”
“We're contacting you regarding your overdue loan.”
I gripped the phone.
“I didn't take out a loan.”
There was a pause.
“Sir, our records indicate otherwise.”
“Your records are wrong.”
The man cleared his throat.
“Mr. Bennett, the account is seriously delinquent.”
I looked at Nia.
She noticed my expression.
“What is it?”
I raised my hand.
The caller continued.
“If the default isn't resolved, the lender may pursue foreclosure proceedings.”
My chest tightened.
“Foreclosure?”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt dizzy.
I lowered myself into the chair.
“How much time do I have?”
The man hesitated.
“Formal notices have already been issued.”
I stared at the wall.
“What notices?”
“According to our records, correspondence was delivered to your address.”
I hadn't received anything.
Not one letter.
Then I remembered.
Marcus had been collecting my mail for months.
He said he wanted to help.
He claimed I shouldn't have to worry about bills anymore.
My hands began trembling.
I looked at Nia.
She mouthed, “Dad?”
I swallowed.
Then I spoke into the phone.
“I need copies of every document connected to this account.”
The caller agreed to provide instructions for submitting a formal dispute.
When the call ended, I sat perfectly still.
Nia took my hand.
“What happened?”
I could barely speak.
“They're threatening foreclosure.”
Her face went white.
I looked around the study.
At the books Evelyn collected.
At the photographs of my children.
At the desk I built with my own hands.
Then I whispered, “I could lose the house.”
Nia squeezed my hand.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Dad, we're going to fight this.”
I wanted to believe her.
But then my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from Marcus.
He had apparently been released pending further proceedings.
The message contained only one sentence.
“Sign the deed before Friday, or the bank takes everything.”
I stared at the screen.
Then I showed Nia.
Her expression changed.
She wasn't frightened anymore.
She was furious.
And when she looked at me, I knew something important.
Marcus had underestimated the wrong person.
May you like
He thought he was fighting an old man.
He had forgotten that old man had a daughter who would never abandon him.
