Chapter 4
I read Anthony’s message until the words blurred.
Marcus knows I’m coming back for Jordan.
“Coming back how?”
Aunt Renee shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“When did he send this?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“And you didn’t tell Mom?”
“I tried.”
Mom looked at her.
“You called while Marcus was home.”
“I couldn’t say it with him listening.”
I stared at the screen.
“Do you have Anthony’s number?”
Renee hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Call him.”
Mom immediately said, “Jordan, wait.”
“No.”
“You just learned about him tonight.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at Aunt Renee.
“Call him.”
She did.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then voicemail.
Renee tried again.
Nothing.
“Text him.”
She typed:
Jordan knows. Call us.
We waited.
No response.
By sunrise, I felt like I had aged ten years.
Aunt Renee stayed with us.
Mom finally slept for two hours on the couch.
I didn’t sleep at all.
At eight-thirty, we drove to the police station.
Mom brought the metal box.
Every photograph.
Every financial document.
Every threatening message she had saved.
An officer listened while she explained.
I watched her hands shake.
When she described the violence, she kept minimizing it.
“He only pushed me.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“He never hurt Jordan.”
Finally, I interrupted.
“He raised his hand at her yesterday.”
Mom looked at me.
“And she was terrified.”
The officer nodded.
He asked Mom whether she wanted information about a protective order.
“Yes.”
That one word sounded stronger than anything she had said the night before.
Afterward, we met her attorney, a woman named Denise Harper.
She was calm.
Direct.
And completely unimpressed by Dad’s threats.
“The financial documents are serious,” she said.
“Can Marcus be arrested?” I asked.
“For identity theft and fraud, potentially. But investigations take time.”
“That means he can just come home?”
“Not necessarily.”
She explained the protective-order process.
Mom listened carefully.
Then Denise looked at me.
“Jordan, because a loan was opened using your identity, there are additional steps we need to take.”
“I’ll do whatever.”
“We’ll freeze your credit.”
I almost laughed.
“I’m seventeen.”
“That makes this more serious, not less.”
Mom looked ashamed.
I reached under the table and squeezed her hand.
For the first time, I understood something.
Dad’s actions were his.
Mom had hidden them.
She had made mistakes.
But she hadn’t created them.
Dad had spent years making her feel responsible for the damage he caused.
I wasn’t going to help him continue doing that.
After the meeting, we returned home.
Dad’s truck was across the street.
Mom froze.
He was sitting behind the wheel.
Watching.
“Don’t get out,” I said.
Aunt Renee called the police.
Before anyone arrived, Dad drove away.
That afternoon, Mom packed a small bag.
“We’re staying with Renee tonight.”
I nodded.
Honestly, I was relieved.
Being inside our house suddenly felt like standing inside a trap.
I went upstairs to pack.
When I entered my bedroom, something felt wrong.
At first, I couldn’t identify it.
Then I saw my desk drawer.
Open.
I had closed it before leaving.
My closet door was also cracked.
I walked slowly toward the desk.
Nothing obvious was missing.
Then I checked beneath my mattress.
The emergency cash I had saved from my summer job was gone.
Three hundred dollars.
I called Mom.
She rushed upstairs.
Her face went pale.
“He was here.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
We checked the back door.
Locked.
Windows.
Locked.
Then Aunt Renee noticed the garage entrance.
The deadbolt was damaged.
Dad had gotten inside.
Mom called police again.
This time they came quickly.
They photographed the door.
Took statements.
One officer asked whether Dad had taken anything else.
Mom checked her hidden compartment.
The metal box was gone.
For a second, she looked devastated.
Then she remembered.
We had taken the box to the attorney.
Dad had broken in for evidence that was no longer there.
“He knows,” Mom whispered.
“Knows what?”
“That I’m serious.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
You should have stayed out of grown folks’ business.
My blood ran cold.
I showed the officer.
He photographed it.
Then another message came.
Ask your mother what happens when people betray me.
Mom saw it.
Her knees weakened.
Aunt Renee caught her.
The officer’s expression changed too.
“That needs to be included in the report.”
We left the house twenty minutes later.
At Aunt Renee’s apartment, I sat near the window for hours.
Every vehicle slowing outside made me tense.
Around nine, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then something made me answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man said,
“Jordan?”
His voice was unfamiliar.
My chest tightened.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Anthony.”
I stood.
Mom looked at me from across the room.
I turned on speakerphone.
“Anthony Carter?”
“Yes.”
Mom closed her eyes.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Anthony said quietly,
“Claire?”
Mom whispered, “I’m here.”
His breath caught.
Seventeen years of history seemed to fill the room.
I interrupted.
“Why are you coming back?”
Anthony was silent.
“Did you contact my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I learned what he was doing.”
“What?”
“The loans.”
I looked at Mom.
“How would you know?”
“Marcus called me.”
That surprised all of us.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Why?”
Anthony exhaled.
“He wanted money.”
I almost laughed.
Of course he did.
“He said if I really believed I was your father, I owed him for raising you.”
I felt disgust rise in my throat.
“How much did he ask for?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Mom whispered, “Oh my God.”
“I refused.”
Anthony continued.
“Then he started sending me documents.”
“What documents?”
“Your school records. Photos. Your football schedule.”
My skin went cold.
Dad had been sending information about me to a man I didn’t know.
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
“And if you paid?”
“He said he would arrange a paternity test.”
I sat down slowly.
“So he was trying to sell me again.”
“No.”
Anthony’s voice became firm.
“He was trying to use both of us.”
“Same difference.”
“I understand why you feel that way.”
“No, you don’t.”
I regretted the words immediately.
But Anthony didn’t argue.
“You’re right,” he said.
That stopped me.
Then Mom asked,
“Why come back now?”
“Because three days ago Marcus called me drunk.”
Anthony paused.
“He said Claire had discovered too much.”
Mom went still.
“What exactly did he say?”
Anthony hesitated.
“That if she left him, he would make sure she lost everything.”
Aunt Renee reached for Mom’s hand.
Anthony continued.
“Then he said he had one last way to get money.”
My stomach tightened.
“What way?”
“He said something about Jordan’s future.”
I looked at the financial documents spread across Renee’s table.
“What does that mean?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Anthony’s voice dropped.
“He told me I’d find out after he was gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know.”
The room became silent.
Then Anthony said something that changed the entire situation.
“I drove from Atlanta this morning.”
Mom stood.
“You’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“About ten minutes away.”
I looked at Aunt Renee.
Then Mom.
Neither spoke.
I asked,
“Why?”
Anthony answered quietly.
“Because whatever that test says, I should have come back years ago.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
Then he added,
“And because Marcus has been planning something none of you know about.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“He’s been trying to sell the house.”
Mom’s face went white.
“That’s impossible.”
Anthony didn’t respond immediately.
May you like
Then he said,
“He already has a buyer.”
