Chapter 4
I read Jasmine's message twice.
Then a third time.
The other account.
I looked at Nia.
"What other account?"
She was shaking.
"I don't know."
I wanted to believe her.
But belief had become dangerous.
For eighteen months, I'd believed every story about Jasmine's financial struggles.
For nine months, I'd unknowingly carried a loan I never authorized.
Now another account had appeared.
And my wife claimed she knew nothing.
I placed the phone on the desk.
"Nia, this needs to stop."
She nodded quickly.
"I know."
"No more partial answers."
Her eyes filled.
"No more telling me what you think I want to hear."
She swallowed.
"I understand."
I sat across from her.
"Did you and Jasmine open another account?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
My chest tightened.
"What kind?"
"A business checking account."
"Where?"
She named a bank I didn't recognize.
I opened my laptop.
"Do you have access?"
"Yes."
"Then show me."
She looked frightened.
But she signed in.
The balance appeared.
Twenty-three dollars and fourteen cents.
I stared.
Nia began crying.
"That can't be right."
I looked at the transaction history.
Money had entered the account.
Large amounts.
Some from the loan.
Others from transfers associated with Harbor Ridge.
Then the funds had moved out.
Fast.
Sometimes within hours.
I scrolled through the statements.
Payments to unfamiliar companies.
Cash withdrawals.
Wire transfers.
And several transactions labeled consulting fees.
I stopped at one.
SILVER OAK ADVISORY GROUP.
$19,500.
Another appeared two weeks later.
$12,000.
Then another.
$8,750.
I looked at Nia.
"Who's Silver Oak?"
She shook her head.
"Jasmine said they were handling paperwork."
"What paperwork?"
"For the investment."
I stared at her.
"Nia, there is no investment property."
She covered her mouth.
I continued searching.
Silver Oak Advisory Group had a business address.
I copied it into the search bar.
The result appeared immediately.
A virtual mailbox service.
Not an investment office.
Not a real estate agency.
A mailbox.
I felt my stomach drop.
I searched the registered business owner.
The name was Jasmine Carter.
Nia stared at the screen.
"No."
I turned toward her.
"Your sister's company received the money."
She shook her head.
"No, Derek."
"Look."
I pointed toward the registration.
Jasmine's name.
Her mailing address.
The incorporation date.
Everything matched.
Nia began sobbing.
"She told me it belonged to the investment manager."
I looked away.
I wanted to feel sorry for her.
Part of me did.
But another part remembered the forged loan.
The lies.
The arguments.
The way she demanded more money for Jasmine that very morning.
"Did you verify anything?"
Nia shook her head.
"Did you ask for a contract?"
"No."
"Did you see a property?"
"No."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Why?"
Her voice broke.
"Because she's my sister."
I looked at her.
"That isn't an answer."
She cried harder.
Then whispered, "Because I thought she'd never hurt me."
For a moment, I saw the little girl Nia used to be.
The older sister who helped raise Jasmine after their father left.
The one who protected her younger sister from everything.
I understood that history.
But understanding didn't erase responsibility.
I took a breath.
"We need professional help."
Nia looked up.
"What kind?"
"An attorney. A forensic accountant. And the bank's fraud department."
She shook her head.
"Derek, please don't call the police."
I stared at her.
"Why not?"
"Because Jasmine could go to jail."
I felt my anger return.
"And what happens when the lender comes after us for seventy-five thousand dollars?"
She looked down.
"What happens if our credit is destroyed?"
Silence.
"What happens if the money came from other people too?"
Nia lifted her head.
"What?"
I pointed at the statements.
"Look at these deposits."
Several transactions had come from people whose names I didn't recognize.
Ten thousand.
Fifteen thousand.
Five thousand.
They weren't my payments.
They weren't loan proceeds.
They were outside deposits.
I felt sick.
"Jasmine may have taken money from other people."
Nia shook her head.
"She wouldn't."
I looked at her.
"That's what you've been saying all morning."
She went quiet.
I called my attorney, Raymond Ellis.
He'd handled contracts for my business for years.
I explained the situation.
His tone became serious immediately.
"Derek, don't alter any documents."
"I won't."
"Preserve the records and contact the lender about the disputed authorization."
I nodded.
"And Nia needs independent legal advice."
I looked toward my wife.
She was crying silently.
Raymond continued.
"If an electronic signature was used without your authorization, the lender will need to investigate. But don't assume everything is resolved because you report it."
"I understand."
He asked me to send copies of the documents securely.
We arranged a meeting.
After ending the call, I looked at Nia.
"You need your own attorney."
She wiped her eyes.
"Are you divorcing me?"
The question landed heavily.
For nine years, she'd been my wife.
We'd built a home.
Shared holidays.
Planned for children.
Supported each other through illness and loss.
Now I was sitting across from a woman who had used my identity without permission.
I couldn't answer immediately.
"I don't know."
She began crying again.
"Derek, please."
I shook my head.
"I need time."
She reached for my hand.
I let her hold it for a moment.
Then gently pulled away.
"I'm not making decisions while I'm angry."
She nodded.
For the first time that day, she didn't argue.
That afternoon, I went to my office.
I needed space.
I needed to think.
I reviewed the records Raymond had requested.
Then I noticed another name.
A deposit into Harbor Ridge.
Twenty thousand dollars.
The sender was someone I knew.
Someone I'd worked with for years.
My business partner.
Anthony Brooks.
I stared at the transaction.
Then reached for my phone.
Anthony answered immediately.
"Hey, Derek."
I swallowed.
"Anthony, I need to ask you something."
"Sure."
"Did you invest twenty thousand dollars in Harbor Ridge Investments?"
There was a pause.
Then Anthony laughed.
"Yeah, man. Your wife told me you were backing the project."
My stomach dropped.
I gripped the phone.
"She told you what?"
Anthony became quiet.
"Derek?"
I closed my eyes.
May you like
Then asked the question that changed everything.
"Anthony, how many other people did Nia tell I was involved?"
