Chapter 4
Dad stared at the photograph for almost a minute.
I could see the muscles working in his jaw.
The man beside Denise appeared to be in his late forties. He wore a gray suit and carried a leather briefcase.
Denise was smiling at him.
Not the polite smile she gave neighbors.
A familiar smile.
The kind she used to give Dad when she wanted something.
I hated that I noticed.
"Do you recognize him?" I asked.
Dad shook his head.
"No."
Aunt Evelyn leaned closer.
"I do."
Everyone turned toward her.
She looked troubled.
"His name is Raymond Price."
Dad frowned.
"Who is he?"
"A financial broker. I met him at a community fundraiser last year."
Jordan suddenly stood.
"I know him too."
My stomach tightened.
Dad looked at him.
"From where?"
"Mom introduced us. She said he was helping with the business."
"When?"
"About four months ago."
I stared at Jordan.
Four months.
The same month Denise registered D&J Lifestyle Solutions.
Aunt Evelyn crossed her arms.
"Raymond has a reputation for arranging risky private loans."
Dad looked back at the photograph.
"That doesn't mean he's involved in anything illegal."
"No," Aunt Evelyn agreed. "But you need to know what Denise asked him to do."
I watched Dad forward the photograph to Rebecca.
A few minutes later, the attorney called.
She told us to preserve the message and let her investigate its source.
She also warned us that the photograph alone didn't prove anything beyond a meeting.
I appreciated that.
After everything that had happened, I wanted facts.
Not rumors.
Not another adult twisting a story to make someone else look guilty.
I wanted the truth.
The next morning, Dad drove me to the bank.
I sat beside him in silence.
He kept glancing toward me.
"Have you eaten?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Jasmine."
"Dad, please."
He sighed.
"Okay."
Then he said something I wasn't expecting.
"I'm sorry."
I turned toward him.
"For what?"
"For not noticing what was happening."
I looked out the window.
He continued.
"You were working late shifts, going to school, and trying to save money. I thought you were doing well because you never complained."
I swallowed.
"I did complain."
He looked at me.
I turned toward him.
"Maybe not about the money. But I told you Denise was treating me differently."
His face tightened.
"I remember."
"I told you she made me clean Jordan's room. I told you she made comments about my mother. I told you she said I was ungrateful."
Dad gripped the steering wheel.
"And I told you to be patient."
I nodded.
Tears filled my eyes.
"You said she was adjusting to being a stepmother."
His voice broke.
"I was wrong."
That was all I had wanted him to say for years.
Not an explanation.
Not another reminder that Denise had a difficult childhood.
Just an admission that what happened to me had not been fair.
At the bank, a manager helped me review my account.
The suspicious transfer had been initiated through online banking after my phone was used to approve a security prompt.
I immediately remembered Denise borrowing my phone.
The transaction history also revealed smaller withdrawals over the previous three months.
Two hundred dollars.
Three hundred fifty.
One hundred eighty.
Amounts small enough that I had mistaken them for ordinary spending when checking my balance quickly.
The total missing from my savings was six thousand one hundred and seventy dollars.
I stared at the number.
Six thousand one hundred and seventy.
I had almost nothing left.
The manager helped me document the disputed transactions and secure the account.
Dad sat beside me the entire time.
He didn't interrupt.
He didn't tell me to calm down.
When the meeting ended, he said, "We'll make sure your tuition deadline doesn't stop you from attending school."
I looked at him.
"Dad, you don't have to replace it."
He stared at me.
"Jasmine, you're my daughter."
"But it's a lot of money."
"Your education matters more than a shopping spree."
I began crying again.
He hugged me in the bank parking lot.
For a few minutes, I felt like the little girl who used to run into his arms after school.
Then my phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A woman spoke.
"Is this Jasmine Carter?"
"Yes."
"My name is Patricia. I'm calling from the university's financial aid office."
My heart jumped.
"Is something wrong?"
There was a pause.
"We received a request yesterday to withdraw your enrollment acceptance."
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
"The request stated that you no longer intended to attend."
My hands began shaking.
"I never sent that!"
Dad immediately looked at me.
The woman sounded concerned.
"Then we need to verify your identity and review the request."
I pressed the phone against my ear.
"Please don't cancel my place."
"We haven't finalized anything. We wanted confirmation before processing it."
I nearly collapsed with relief.
But the fear remained.
Someone had tried to take my money.
Someone had tried to use my identity.
And now someone was trying to take away my place at college.
I looked at Dad.
His expression had turned cold.
"Ask how the request was submitted."
I repeated the question.
Patricia explained that the request came from an email address associated with my original application records.
I knew immediately which address she meant.
It was the family email Denise had helped me create years earlier.
I hadn't used it regularly since high school.
But Denise knew the password.
I thanked Patricia, verified my current contact information through the university's official process, and arranged to send a written statement confirming that I intended to enroll.
When the call ended, Dad stood motionless.
Then he said, "We're changing every password and recovering every account she may have accessed."
I nodded.
He looked at me.
"Nothing is being taken from your future without a fight."
For the first time since Denise shoved that basket into my arms, I believed him completely.
That afternoon, Rebecca called.
She had identified Raymond Price.
He was connected to several private lending companies.
And he had been meeting with Denise about financing for D&J Lifestyle Solutions.
But the most shocking detail wasn't his business.
It was his relationship to Denise.
According to records Rebecca had reviewed, Raymond and Denise had previously been married.
I stared at Dad.
"She was married before you?"
He nodded slowly.
"She told me she was divorced."
"Did she tell you who her ex-husband was?"
"No."
Rebecca continued speaking.
Then Dad's face changed.
"What do you mean the divorce records don't match?"
My heart began pounding.
Rebecca explained that the information Denise had given Dad about her marital history contained serious inconsistencies.
There were records of a prior marriage, but the documents she had provided to prove its dissolution required verification.
Dad closed his eyes.
I whispered, "What does that mean?"
He looked at me.
May you like
"It means we need to find out whether Denise lied about being free to marry me."
And for the first time, I wondered if my stepmother's entire life with us had been built on a lie.
