Chapter 5
The next morning, I walked into Raymond's office carrying my mother's letter.
I hadn't slept more than two hours.
My eyes were swollen.
My hands trembled.
But something inside me had changed.
For weeks, I'd been searching for a father.
Now I was searching for the truth my mother had tried to protect.
Raymond read the handwritten warning carefully.
Then looked at Olivia.
"This is significant."
She nodded.
"It may help establish what Evelyn was concerned about."
I leaned forward.
"Can we prove Diane took the money?"
Olivia chose her words carefully.
"We can trace transactions. We still need to establish who authorized them and whether they were legitimate."
I nodded.
I was learning that truth required patience.
Not assumptions.
Not anger.
Evidence.
Raymond asked whether I remembered anything about my mother's finances.
I thought carefully.
I was eight when she died.
Most of my memories were small.
Her singing while cooking.
The smell of cocoa butter in her hair.
The way she called me her sunshine.
But then I remembered something.
A red folder.
My stomach tightened.
"She had a red folder."
Raymond looked up.
"What kind?"
"I don't know."
I closed my eyes.
I remembered sitting at the kitchen table while Mom reviewed papers.
She always kept them inside a red leather folder.
Sometimes she'd tell me not to touch it because the documents were important.
I opened my eyes.
"She said it contained papers about our future."
Olivia leaned forward.
"Do you know what happened to it?"
I shook my head.
"No."
Then another memory surfaced.
Diane standing in our kitchen.
Her black coat.
Her angry voice.
My mother telling her to leave.
I suddenly felt cold.
"I remember them arguing."
Raymond sat straighter.
"Who?"
"My mother and Diane."
I swallowed.
"I was little. Maybe seven."
Marcus touched my shoulder.
"Take your time."
I nodded.
I remembered standing behind a doorway.
Diane was pointing at the red folder.
My mother held it against her chest.
Then she said something I'd forgotten for twenty years.
"Those papers belong to my daughter."
My heart began pounding.
I looked at Raymond.
"That's what Mom said."
Olivia's expression sharpened.
"What did Diane say?"
I closed my eyes.
I searched the memory.
Then whispered, "She said I wasn't entitled to anything."
The room went silent.
Marcus leaned forward.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded slowly.
"I remember being confused."
I looked down.
"Because I didn't know what entitled meant."
Tears filled my eyes.
My mother had been protecting me long before I understood there was something to protect.
Raymond wrote everything down.
Then asked whether I'd be willing to provide a formal statement.
I nodded.
"Yes."
After the meeting, Marcus drove me to the neighborhood where I'd lived with my mother.
The house was still standing.
A small brick home with white shutters.
The front yard looked different.
But the porch was the same.
I sat in the car staring at it.
"Do you want to knock?" Marcus asked.
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
He nodded.
We sat quietly.
Then an elderly woman stepped onto the neighboring porch.
She looked toward our car.
For a moment, she seemed confused.
Then her eyes widened.
She walked slowly toward us.
I lowered the window.
"Can I help you?"
She stared at me.
"My goodness."
I frowned.
"Ma'am?"
She covered her mouth.
"You look exactly like Evelyn."
My heart stopped.
"You knew my mother?"
The woman began crying.
"Oh, baby."
I stepped out of the car.
She introduced herself as Mrs. Loretta Greene.
She was seventy-four and had lived next door for more than thirty years.
She remembered my mother.
She remembered me.
And when she hugged me, something inside me broke.
"Nia."
I began crying.
Nobody had spoken my childhood name with that kind of recognition in years.
Mrs. Greene invited us inside.
Her living room was filled with photographs and old furniture.
She brought out a small album.
Then opened it.
There I was.
At five years old.
Holding a yellow balloon.
My mother stood beside me.
Smiling.
I covered my mouth.
"Oh my God."
Mrs. Greene touched my shoulder.
"Your mama loved you something fierce."
I nodded through my tears.
"I know."
She smiled sadly.
"She worried about you."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Mrs. Greene hesitated.
"Because of the arguments."
I looked up.
"What arguments?"
She sighed.
"With Diane."
My heart pounded.
Mrs. Greene explained that Diane had visited frequently during my early childhood.
Sometimes the visits were peaceful.
Other times, they ended with shouting.
She remembered one afternoon when my mother came next door crying.
I swallowed.
"What happened?"
Mrs. Greene looked at me.
"Your mama said someone had tried to pressure her into signing property documents."
I stared.
"Who?"
"Diane."
My stomach twisted.
Mrs. Greene continued.
"Your mother said she wouldn't allow anyone to take what belonged to you."
Tears filled my eyes.
I looked down at the photograph.
My mother had fought for me.
Even when I didn't understand.
Even when nobody else stood beside her.
I whispered, "Did she ever tell you where she kept her papers?"
Mrs. Greene thought carefully.
Then nodded.
"Actually, yes."
I sat straighter.
"Where?"
She smiled sadly.
"She gave me something before she moved away."
My heart began pounding.
"What?"
Mrs. Greene stood.
She walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
Then opened a drawer.
Inside was a small metal box.
She carried it back to the table.
"I kept this because she asked me to."
My hands trembled.
Mrs. Greene placed the box in front of me.
"She said if you ever came looking for answers, I should give it to you."
I stared at the lid.
There was a tiny silver lock.
Mrs. Greene reached into her pocket.
Then placed a key beside it.
My breath caught.
"She left this for me?"
Mrs. Greene nodded.
"Yes, sweetheart."
I carefully unlocked the box.
Inside were several photographs.
A small gold bracelet.
And a folded red envelope.
My heart nearly stopped.
The envelope looked exactly like the folder from my childhood memories.
I picked it up.
Across the front, my mother's handwriting read:
FOR NIA — WHEN SHE IS READY TO KNOW THE TRUTH.
I began crying.
Then slowly opened it.
Inside was a letter.
And a photocopy of a signed agreement.
I looked at the document.
Diane's name appeared near the bottom.
So did Principal Bennett's.
But the third signature made me freeze.
It belonged to someone I hadn't expected.
Caroline Bennett.
Diane's deceased sister.
I stared at the date.
It was only weeks before Caroline died.
Then I read the title.
May you like
FAMILY PROPERTY SETTLEMENT.
And suddenly, I realized my mother's inheritance might not be the only money Diane had been trying to control.
