Chapter 4
I opened Jordan's social media account with shaking hands.
The video was still there.
Three months earlier, he had filmed himself walking through a bright living room.
Music played in the background.
A group of friends cheered as he lifted a set of keys.
The caption read:
"New chapter. Big things coming."
At the time, I thought he was celebrating a promotion.
Now I understood.
He was celebrating a house purchased with money that might have belonged to me.
Dad watched the video twice.
Then he handed the phone to Samuel.
"Save that."
Samuel nodded.
"I'll document the public post and preserve a copy."
I looked at Dad.
"Jordan knew."
His jaw tightened.
"We need to establish exactly what he knew."
I wanted to believe my stepbrother had been innocent.
We weren't close.
But we had shared a home for six years.
I had helped him with college assignments.
I had driven him to the emergency room when he injured his ankle.
I had even lent him money once when his bank account was overdrawn.
He promised to repay me.
He never did.
Now I wondered whether he had been laughing at me behind my back.
Samuel studied the purchase records.
"The property is held by Heritage Residential Holdings, not Jordan personally."
Dad frowned.
"Then why does Jordan call it his?"
"We'll need to determine whether he lives there, receives benefits from it, or expects ownership."
I stared at the house photograph.
"Can we go there?"
Samuel shook his head.
"Not to confront anyone. Let us preserve the records first."
I nodded reluctantly.
The last thing I wanted was to give Denise time to hide evidence.
Samuel explained that we needed an independent forensic accountant.
He also recommended reporting the suspected financial crimes to the authorities.
Dad agreed immediately.
I signed the necessary forms to authorize the review of records relating to my interests in the trust.
For the first time, I felt as though I had some control.
But the feeling didn't last.
That afternoon, Denise called me.
I stared at her name on my screen.
Dad was sitting across from me in the hotel suite.
"You don't have to answer."
I shook my head.
"I want to hear what she says."
I put the call on speaker.
"Maya?"
Her voice sounded soft.
Almost loving.
"Hi, sweetheart."
I closed my eyes.
She hadn't called me sweetheart when she was shouting in the bedroom.
"What do you want, Denise?"
She sighed.
"I know you're upset."
I said nothing.
"I want you to understand that this situation has gotten completely out of control."
"Because Dad found out?"
"No. Because everyone is jumping to conclusions."
I looked at him.
His expression remained controlled.
Denise continued.
"Your father is threatening to destroy our marriage over financial decisions you don't understand."
I felt anger rising.
"You took money from Mom's trust."
"I was protecting it."
"By buying a house?"
Silence.
Then she asked, "Who told you about that?"
I almost laughed.
"So it's true?"
"Maya, please."
"Is it Jordan's house?"
She exhaled sharply.
"Jordan has nothing to do with your inheritance."
"Then why did you buy property through your mother's company?"
"Because it was a good investment!"
"With my money?"
Her voice hardened.
"You've always been so ungrateful."
I stared at the phone.
There it was again.
The same accusation she used whenever I questioned her.
Ungrateful.
As if gratitude meant handing over everything I owned.
I took a breath.
"Denise, I worked two jobs while you collected one thousand dollars from me every month."
"You lived in a beautiful house!"
"Dad paid for that house."
"I managed the household!"
"Then why did Lorraine get my rent?"
She stopped speaking.
I continued.
"Why did Jordan live there for free?"
No answer.
"Why did you tell me Dad wanted the money?"
Her voice became cold.
"Your father has always spoiled you."
I looked at him.
He reached across the table and took my hand.
I felt stronger.
"Maybe he loves me," I said.
Denise laughed bitterly.
"You're going to regret turning him against me."
I stared at the phone.
"Are you threatening me?"
"No. I'm warning you that families don't survive betrayal."
I almost couldn't believe it.
She was accusing me of betrayal.
Then she said something that made my stomach drop.
"Your mother wasn't the saint you think she was."
I went still.
"What?"
Denise continued.
"Olivia made financial arrangements your father never told you about."
Dad leaned forward.
"Denise, this is Marcus."
Silence.
Then a sharp breath.
He spoke calmly.
"If you have evidence concerning Olivia's trust, send it to Samuel."
Denise recovered quickly.
"Marcus, thank God. I've been trying to reach you."
"You've had my number."
"I wanted to explain."
"Then cooperate with the investigation."
Her tone changed.
"You're really going to involve outsiders in our family?"
"You already involved your mother and your son."
"That's unfair."
"What's unfair is using my daughter as a source of money."
Denise began crying.
I heard it clearly.
But something about the sound felt familiar.
She cried the same way whenever she wanted Dad to cancel plans or buy something expensive.
I hated myself for recognizing it so late.
"Marcus, please come home."
He looked at me.
Then answered.
"I'll communicate through our attorneys."
The call ended.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Dad said, "I'm sorry she spoke about your mother that way."
My throat tightened.
"Do you think Mom hid something?"
He shook his head.
"Olivia was careful with her finances. But we'll review the records instead of guessing."
I nodded.
That evening, I opened the old memory box I had brought from home.
Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and letters from Mom.
At the bottom was a small blue notebook.
I remembered her using it to track family expenses.
I hadn't opened it in years.
Most pages contained ordinary notes.
Grocery lists.
School reminders.
Ideas for birthday presents.
Then I found an envelope tucked into the back cover.
My name was written on it.
Maya.
I recognized Mom's handwriting immediately.
My hands began shaking.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a short letter.
"My beautiful girl,
If you're reading this when you're older, I hope life has given you more joy than sorrow.
I want you to know that the money I've saved is not a measure of my love.
It is simply a tool to help you build a life of your own.
Please remember that nobody has the right to make you feel guilty for protecting your future.
Love yourself enough to ask questions.
Trust people who respect your answers.
And never confuse being needed with being loved.
Forever,
Mom."
I cried so hard I could barely breathe.
Dad came into the room.
He sat beside me and read the letter.
Then he wrapped his arms around me.
For a long time, we said nothing.
Finally, he whispered, "Your mother knew you were going to grow into a strong woman."
I shook my head.
"I don't feel strong."
"Strength isn't the absence of fear, Maya."
I looked at him.
"It's what you do while you're afraid."
The following morning, Samuel called.
The forensic accountant had found another troubling detail.
Several trust withdrawals were supported by documents bearing my signature.
But one was dated when I was out of the country attending a university design conference.
I knew the date immediately.
I had been in Toronto.
I still had photographs.
My flight records.
My hotel confirmation.
Samuel explained that the signature might have been electronically reproduced.
Dad looked furious.
"Can you prove it?"
"We have a strong lead. We need the originals."
I asked, "Who submitted the document?"
Samuel paused.
"The authorization appears to have come through Denise's account access."
My heart pounded.
Then he added, "But the payment instructions were prepared by someone else."
"Who?"
"Jordan Thompson."
I stared at the wall.
Jordan hadn't merely benefited from the money.
He had apparently helped move it.
And when I checked my phone again, I saw that he had deleted the video of his new house.
May you like
But I had already saved it.
For the first time, I understood that my stepbrother might be just as involved as his mother.
