Chapter 3
I stared at the page until the lines blurred.
My name appeared at least twenty times.
Marcus Carter.
Marcus Carter.
Marcus Carter.
Some attempts were clumsy.
Others looked almost perfect.
Imani stepped beside me.
“What is that?”
I handed her the page.
She studied it.
Then her eyes widened.
“She was practicing your signature?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
Noah stood in the doorway behind us.
I immediately turned.
“Buddy, go sit in the living room.”
He shook his head.
“I want to help.”
My chest tightened.
“You already helped.”
“But—”
“You told me the truth.”
I walked over and crouched in front of him.
“That was brave.”
He looked down.
“Are you mad at me?”
The question cut deeper than anything Vanessa had done.
“No.”
I put my hands gently on his shoulders.
“I am never going to be mad at you for telling me something that scares you.”
His eyes filled.
“Even if I broke the rule?”
“What rule?”
“She said your office was private.”
I pulled him into my chest.
“My office matters less than you.”
He held onto me.
Imani looked away, wiping her eyes.
I kissed Noah’s forehead.
“Go warm up. Aunt Imani is staying tonight.”
He finally nodded.
After he left, I closed the office door.
Imani held up the signature sheet.
“You need a lawyer.”
“I need to know what she took.”
“And the police.”
I hesitated.
She stared at me.
“Marcus.”
“I know.”
“You found your child freezing on a garage floor.”
“I know.”
“Then stop protecting her.”
“I’m not protecting Vanessa.”
“Yes, you are.”
Her voice softened.
“You’re protecting yourself from admitting how bad this is.”
I looked away.
She was right.
Part of me still wanted an explanation that would make everything smaller.
A terrible parenting decision.
A financial misunderstanding.
A marriage that could end quietly.
But the signature page destroyed that fantasy.
I opened my laptop.
I started checking account records.
Our shared household account looked normal.
Mortgage.
Utilities.
Groceries.
Then I opened the savings account I had created before marrying Vanessa.
The balance should have been around eighty-two thousand dollars.
It showed fifty-nine thousand.
I stared.
Imani leaned closer.
“What?”
“Twenty-three thousand dollars is missing.”
“When?”
I opened the transaction history.
The withdrawals were spread out.
Two thousand.
Four thousand.
Three thousand.
Small enough that I had missed them.
Each transfer went to an account ending in 7741.
I did not recognize it.
Imani whispered, “Oh my God.”
I clicked deeper.
The transfer authorizations contained electronic approvals.
My name.
My password.
My confirmation.
Except I had never approved any of them.
My stomach twisted.
“She knew your login?”
“Vanessa handled bills sometimes.”
Imani gave me a look.
I hated that look because I knew what it meant.
How did you not see this?
I had asked myself the same thing ten times in the last hour.
“I trusted my wife.”
“I know.”
“I thought that was what marriage was.”
“I know.”
Her anger disappeared.
“That’s why people like her get away with things.”
I rubbed my face.
Then my phone rang.
Vanessa.
I stared at her name.
Imani shook her head.
“Don’t answer.”
I answered.
“What?”
Vanessa sounded calm.
“Can we talk like adults now?”
“No.”
“Marcus.”
“You locked Noah in a freezing garage.”
“I lost my temper.”
“For three hours?”
Silence.
Then she sighed.
“I’m sorry about that.”
I felt nothing hearing it.
No guilt in her voice.
No fear for Noah.
Only inconvenience.
“Where are his trust papers?”
“What trust papers?”
“The ones you took from my office.”
“I didn’t take anything.”
“Then why were you practicing my signature?”
Silence again.
This time longer.
“Practicing?”
“I found the page.”
Her breathing changed.
“That’s not what you think.”
“Then explain it.”
“I was signing Christmas cards.”
I actually laughed.
“You practiced my full legal signature twenty times for Christmas cards?”
“You’re making everything sound criminal.”
“Twenty-three thousand dollars is missing from my savings.”
She said nothing.
That silence was my answer.
“Where is the money?”
“You authorized those transfers.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Vanessa.”
“I have records.”
“So do I.”
Her voice hardened.
“You should be careful about accusing me of things you can’t prove.”
I looked at Imani.
She heard it too.
That was not the voice of an innocent woman.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s advice.”
“No. Here’s advice.”
I leaned against my desk.
“Do not come near Noah.”
“You can’t keep me away forever.”
“You’re not his mother.”
“I’m legally his stepmother.”
“For now.”
She laughed quietly.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“The trust.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Vanessa.”
“You should read the documents more carefully.”
Then she ended the call.
Imani and I stared at each other.
“What did she mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
I called the attorney who had handled the trust after my first wife, Danielle, died.
His name was Charles Whitaker.
He was in his sixties and rarely sounded surprised.
Tonight, he did.
“Marcus, where are the original documents?”
“Missing.”
“Did Vanessa ever have access?”
“Apparently.”
He exhaled.
“I need you in my office tomorrow morning.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Charles.”
“There was a provision in Danielle’s estate.”
“I know.”
“If you died before Noah turned eighteen, control of part of Noah’s inheritance would pass temporarily to his legal guardian.”
My blood went cold.
“I’m his guardian.”
“Yes.”
“And if I died?”
“The surviving guardian approved by the court could control distributions for Noah’s care.”
I stared at the wall.
“Vanessa?”
“If she remained your wife and successfully petitioned for guardianship, potentially.”
My stomach twisted.
Imani watched my face.
“What is it?” she whispered.
I held up a hand.
“Charles, what could she have changed?”
“Without the originals, I can’t say.”
“Could she access the trust while I’m alive?”
“Not legally.”
That word landed hard.
Legally.
“But with forged documents?”
He was quiet.
“Marcus, come tomorrow.”
After the call, I went to the living room.
Noah was asleep beneath three blankets.
His face finally had some color again.
I sat beside him.
Imani remained standing.
“What did the lawyer say?”
I told her.
She went pale.
Then she looked toward the front window.
“You think Vanessa was after Noah’s money?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think she was trying to become his guardian?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think—”
“I don’t know!”
Noah stirred.
I lowered my voice instantly.
Imani sat beside me.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at my son.
His small hand rested outside the blanket.
I covered it with mine.
Then I remembered something.
Something so ordinary I had forgotten it.
Two weeks earlier, Vanessa had asked me a strange question over dinner.
If something happened to you, would Noah stay with me?
At the time, I thought it was sweet.
I told her yes.
I even told her I should update my will to make things easier.
Now the memory felt different.
Very different.
I looked at Imani.
“She asked about guardianship.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
My sister’s face changed.
Then my phone buzzed.
A notification from my bank appeared.
Password change requested.
I stared at it.
Another notification followed.
New device attempting login.
Then another.
The location listed was a hotel twenty minutes away.
May you like
Vanessa was trying to get back into my accounts.
Right now.
