Chapter 4
I called Dad before I even finished reading the document.
He answered on the second ring.
"Maya?"
My voice shook.
"Dad, somebody signed my name."
He became quiet.
"What?"
I explained the email.
The transfer request.
The signature.
And the company receiving the money.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his voice changed.
"Don't click anything else. Forward the message to me and Rachel."
I did.
Dad came home twenty minutes later.
He found me sitting at the kitchen table.
My laptop was open.
My hands were trembling.
He sat beside me.
"Are you okay?"
I shook my head.
"No."
He looked at the document.
His expression hardened.
"That's not your signature."
I swallowed.
"I know."
He placed a hand over mine.
"We'll handle this."
I wanted to believe him.
But I'd been hearing promises for years.
Promises that Denise would treat me better.
Promises that things would improve.
Promises that he'd speak to her.
This time, I needed action.
"Dad, please don't just talk to her."
He looked at me.
"I won't."
I took a breath.
"Because I don't feel safe having her make decisions about my life."
His eyes filled.
He nodded.
"Then she won't."
The following morning, we met Rachel Monroe.
Her office was downtown.
She was a Black woman in her early forties with a calm voice and sharp eyes.
She listened carefully while Dad explained the situation.
Then she turned toward me.
"Maya, I want you to understand something."
I nodded.
"Your mother's trust created legal protections for your benefit. Nobody can simply ignore those protections because they're married to your father."
My throat tightened.
"Then why did someone submit a transfer request?"
"That's what we're investigating."
She reviewed the document.
Then looked at Dad.
"Has the trustee confirmed receiving this?"
Dad shook his head.
"Not yet."
Rachel nodded.
"Then our first step is verification."
She contacted the bank's trust department using a verified number.
After several minutes, a representative confirmed that a transfer request had been received.
But it had not been completed.
The request failed an authorization check.
I exhaled.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt relief.
The money was still there.
Rachel requested preservation of the relevant records.
Then she recommended additional safeguards on the account.
Dad agreed immediately.
I listened carefully.
I wanted to understand every step.
After the call, Rachel turned toward me.
"Have you ever signed any financial authorization forms for the trust?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Have you provided your personal information to Victor Lane?"
I thought back.
"No."
Then I remembered something.
Six months earlier, Denise had asked me to complete an online college financial planning questionnaire.
She said Victor could help identify scholarships.
The form requested personal information.
I'd entered my name, birthday, school details, and Social Security number.
My stomach tightened.
"I filled out something for Denise."
Rachel leaned forward.
"What?"
I explained.
Dad's face darkened.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I stared at him.
"Because she said you approved it."
He closed his eyes.
I felt tears gathering.
"She told me it would help with college."
Rachel remained calm.
"Do you remember the website?"
I nodded.
"I think so."
She asked me to write down everything I remembered.
The logo.
The email address.
The date.
The information requested.
Then she advised Dad to review my credit reports and consider appropriate identity protections.
I felt sick.
"Could they have opened accounts in my name?"
"We don't know," she answered. "But we can check."
I appreciated her honesty.
She didn't frighten me with guesses.
She explained what we knew.
What we didn't know.
And what we could do next.
For the first time, I felt respected.
After the meeting, Dad drove me home.
The car was quiet.
Then he spoke.
"Maya, I need to apologize again."
I looked toward him.
He continued.
"I let Denise become the person who handled too much of our household life."
I swallowed.
"She controlled everything."
Dad nodded.
"I know that now."
"She read my mail."
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"She did?"
I nodded.
"She said important letters should go through her."
Dad closed his eyes briefly.
Then looked back at the road.
"What else?"
I hesitated.
There were so many things.
Denise opened packages addressed to me.
She checked my bank statements.
She demanded to know how much I earned.
She sometimes took my debit card and claimed she needed to teach me budgeting.
And once, she told me I should feel grateful she allowed me to keep my mother's jewelry.
I looked down.
"Dad, she made me feel like nothing belonged to me."
His voice broke.
"I'm sorry."
I stared out the window.
For years, I'd thought the problem was me.
Maybe I was selfish.
Maybe I was ungrateful.
Maybe wanting privacy and respect meant I didn't appreciate my family.
Now I realized those feelings had been planted inside me.
I had a right to be treated fairly.
I had a right to ask questions.
And I had a right to feel safe in my own home.
That evening, Dad called a family meeting.
Denise sat across from us in the living room.
She looked annoyed.
"I have dinner plans."
Dad placed the trust documents on the table.
"Then we'll be brief."
Her eyes narrowed.
He continued.
"Effective immediately, you will not handle Maya's mail, finances, school documents, or personal information."
Denise laughed.
"Excuse me?"
Dad remained calm.
"You heard me."
She looked toward me.
"This is your doing."
I felt my stomach tighten.
Dad immediately stepped between us.
"No. This is my decision."
Denise stood.
"You're choosing her over your wife!"
Dad looked at her.
"I'm choosing to protect my daughter."
She stared at him.
Then her expression changed.
"You're going to regret humiliating me."
I felt cold.
Those words sounded like a threat.
Dad didn't move.
He simply answered, "Then we'll deal with whatever comes next."
Denise grabbed her handbag and stormed out.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrated.
A text from an unfamiliar number.
It contained a photograph of my mother's house documents.
Beneath it were six words.
ASK DENISE ABOUT THE SECOND DEED.
My heart stopped.
I showed Dad.
May you like
His face went pale.
Then he whispered, "There shouldn't be a second deed."
