Chapter 8
Isaiah didn't answer right away.
That frightened me more than if he had denied it.
I stood in Marcus's kitchen holding my phone so tightly my fingers hurt.
"Isaiah?"
He exhaled.
"There was a settlement."
My knees weakened.
Marcus pulled out a chair.
I sat.
"What kind of settlement?"
"An agreement made when you were little."
"Did Dad take money?"
"No."
I closed my eyes.
"Please don't protect him."
"I'm not."
"Then explain."
Isaiah spoke slowly.
"Your mother threatened a custody fight involving accusations that Dad's attorney believed could be damaging even if they were false. At the same time, Dad was struggling financially."
I waited.
"She offered to withdraw certain claims if he agreed to a custody and contact arrangement."
"What arrangement?"
"He would stop trying to contact you directly for a period while communications went through attorneys."
My stomach tightened.
"And the money?"
Isaiah paused.
"Dad transferred money as part of the broader agreement. Not to receive money. To provide support and settle disputed financial obligations."
I stared at the table.
"Why didn't he tell me?"
"He wanted to explain in person when you were ready."
I felt tears gathering.
"He should have told me."
"You're right."
His answer surprised me.
"You have every right to be upset."
I wiped my face.
"Did he give up on me?"
"No."
"How do I know?"
"Because I watched him spend years trying to reopen communication through lawful channels. I watched him save every letter your mother returned."
I closed my eyes.
Isaiah's voice broke.
"I watched him sit outside your school graduation livestream because he was afraid showing up would cause you trouble."
My breath caught.
"He watched?"
"Every minute."
I remembered scanning the crowd during the ceremony.
I had looked for my biological father even while telling myself he didn't care.
And somewhere in Savannah, he had been watching a screen.
"Why didn't he come?"
"Because he didn't want your mother to turn your graduation into another fight."
The irony hurt.
She had done exactly that anyway.
I ended the call and sat quietly.
Marcus placed a glass of water beside me.
"How do you feel?"
"Angry."
"At whom?"
"Everyone."
He nodded.
"That's fair."
I looked at him.
"Even at Daniel?"
"Especially if he kept something from you that mattered."
I swallowed.
"You don't have to defend him."
"I'm not defending him. I'm defending your right to know."
That night, I called Daniel directly.
He answered after several rings.
His speech was slower than usual.
"Hi, baby."
I nearly cried at the sound.
"Hi, Dad."
There was a pause.
Then I asked.
"Why didn't you tell me about the agreement?"
He was quiet.
I heard Isaiah moving somewhere nearby.
Finally, Daniel whispered, "Ashamed."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"I was scared."
I closed my eyes.
"Of Mom?"
"Of losing you forever."
"But I already lost you."
His breathing changed.
"I know."
For the next fifteen minutes, we talked.
Sometimes he struggled to find words.
Sometimes Isaiah helped him.
Daniel explained that he had trusted legal advice at the time, believing that a temporary contact arrangement might protect me from a destructive custody battle.
He hadn't understood how completely Vanessa would block communication afterward.
He admitted he had made mistakes.
He admitted he should have sought stronger enforcement sooner.
And he apologized.
Not with excuses.
Not by blaming everyone else.
He simply said, "I should have fought harder to reach you."
I cried.
"I needed you."
"I know."
"I thought you didn't love me."
His voice broke.
"I loved you every day."
I didn't forgive every lost birthday in that moment.
I couldn't.
But for the first time, we were talking about the truth instead of the stories other people had told us.
And that mattered.
Meanwhile, the investigation into my education funds continued.
The bank identified unauthorized activity and began working with law enforcement.
Raymond retained an attorney.
My mother stopped answering investigators' calls for a time, according to updates we received.
Then Olivia called with unexpected news.
A former employee of Carter Consulting Services had contacted her office.
Her name was Patricia Wells.
She had worked as my mother's bookkeeper for four years.
Patricia said she had preserved records because she feared she might be blamed for transactions she had questioned.
I met her at Olivia's office.
She was a nervous woman in her fifties.
She kept twisting a tissue in her hands.
"I should have spoken sooner," she said.
I didn't know what to say.
Patricia opened a folder.
"There were payments I didn't understand."
She showed us invoices for services that appeared never to have been provided.
Money moved from an account linked to my education funds into my mother's business.
Then payments went to personal expenses.
Travel.
Designer purchases.
A luxury car.
There were also transfers to Raymond.
I stared at the figures.
"Did you know it was my money?"
Patricia's eyes filled.
"Not at first."
"When did you find out?"
"When your mother complained that you were getting old enough to ask questions."
I felt sick.
Patricia handed Olivia another document.
It was an email exchange.
My mother had written:
Maya turns eighteen next month. We need to finalize the paperwork before she starts digging around.
Raymond had replied:
I can prepare the documents. Just make sure she signs.
I remembered my eighteenth birthday.
The cake.
The presents.
My mother handing me a pen.
My stomach twisted.
Patricia continued.
"When Marcus asked what she was making you sign, she became furious."
I looked up.
"You knew about that?"
"She came to the office afterward."
"What did she say?"
Patricia looked at Marcus.
"She said you were the biggest mistake she'd ever made."
Marcus lowered his eyes.
My heart broke for him.
Then Patricia added something else.
"She said you were too attached to Maya and that you were going to ruin everything."
I took Marcus's hand.
He squeezed it gently.
But Patricia hadn't finished.
"There was another document."
She handed Olivia a photocopy.
Across the top were the words:
BENEFICIARY DESIGNATION.
I leaned forward.
"What's that?"
Olivia read carefully.
Then she looked at Patricia.
"Where did you get this?"
"I copied it before Vanessa took the file."
Olivia's expression became serious.
I felt fear rising.
"What does it mean?"
She looked at me.
"It appears to be an attempt to redirect certain remaining funds under a beneficiary arrangement. We'll need to verify whether it was submitted or became effective."
I stared at the signature line.
My name was written there.
Again.
Except I had never seen the form.
Below it was another name.
Vanessa Carter.
My mother had attempted to make herself the recipient of money that was supposed to belong to me.
I leaned back.
For years, she had called me her greatest blessing.
Yet every new document showed how often she'd treated me as something she could use.
Olivia carefully placed the papers in a folder.
"This is important evidence."
I nodded.
But I barely heard her.
Because my phone had just lit up.
A message from a number I didn't recognize.
It contained a photograph.
My childhood bedroom.
Someone had dumped the drawers onto the floor.
My memory box lay open.
The letters I hadn't taken were scattered across the carpet.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
YOU TOOK WHAT BELONGED TO ME.
Then another.
YOU'LL COME HOME EVENTUALLY.
I stared at the screen.
My mother wasn't just angry anymore.
She was trying to frighten me.
May you like
And for the first time, I understood that the next part of my life couldn't simply be about exposing what she'd done.
It had to be about making sure she could never control me again.
