Chapter 6
The first time I publicly defended my mother, I lost my wedding.
The second time, I almost lost my company.
By the following afternoon, Nia's accusations had spread across Atlanta.
People who had never met us were discussing our family.
Strangers were leaving cruel comments beneath my mother's photographs.
Someone had even posted her home address.
That was the moment I stopped thinking about my reputation.
I started thinking about her safety.
I arranged for Mom to remain at my house.
I upgraded the security system.
Then Daniel helped me make a formal report about the threatening messages and the break-in.
I wanted everything documented.
Every call.
Every video.
Every suspicious visit.
But the hardest part was convincing Mom that she deserved protection.
"Marcus, you can't spend your entire life worrying about me."
We were sitting at the kitchen table.
She had barely touched her breakfast.
I looked at her.
"You spent your entire life worrying about me."
She smiled sadly.
"That's what mothers do."
"Then let me be your son."
Her eyes filled.
I reached for her hand.
"You don't have to be strong every minute anymore."
She squeezed my fingers.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, "Your father would be proud of you."
I looked down.
I wanted to believe that.
But I also wanted answers about the man I barely remembered.
That morning, Daniel called.
He had obtained a copy of the old police file.
The crash investigation showed that my father's vehicle had left the road during heavy rain.
The report described damaged tires and poor visibility.
There was no official finding of sabotage.
But Daniel had noticed something unusual.
One witness had reported seeing a dark sedan following my father's truck shortly before the accident.
The driver was never identified.
I felt a wave of anger.
"Why wasn't that investigated?"
"It was noted," Daniel said, "but apparently there wasn't enough information to connect it to anything."
"Could it have been Raymond?"
"We don't know."
I closed my eyes.
I refused to turn suspicion into certainty.
But I also refused to stop searching.
Daniel continued.
"There may be another person who can help."
"Who?"
"A former employee of your father's company. His name is Samuel Brooks."
I had heard that name before.
Dad used to call him Uncle Sam.
He wasn't related to us, but he had worked alongside my father for years.
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes. He lives outside Decatur."
I checked my watch.
"I'll go see him."
Andre insisted on coming.
We drove to Samuel's house that afternoon.
It was a modest brick home surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges.
An elderly man opened the door.
He had deep wrinkles and a cautious expression.
When I introduced myself, his eyes widened.
"Marcus Bennett?"
"Yes, sir."
For a moment, he looked unable to speak.
Then he stepped forward and embraced me.
"Lord have mercy. You look just like your daddy."
Something tightened in my throat.
Samuel invited us inside.
His living room was filled with family photographs.
On one wall hung an old picture of my father standing beside three construction workers.
Samuel pointed toward it.
"Your daddy was the best man I ever worked for."
I sat across from him.
"Mr. Brooks, I need to ask you something."
His smile faded.
"About the land?"
I nodded.
"How did you know?"
He sighed.
"I figured this day would come."
Then he told me a story my mother had never heard.
Months before my father's death, Samuel had discovered irregular financial records.
Payments were being sent from their construction company to businesses that did not appear to exist.
My father suspected Raymond.
He began collecting documents.
But Raymond found out.
"Your uncle was furious," Samuel said.
"Did you witness a threat?"
Samuel looked at the floor.
"I heard them arguing in the warehouse."
"What did Raymond say?"
Samuel hesitated.
"Something about making sure your father never reached the courthouse."
My heart pounded.
"Did you tell the police?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"They questioned me. But I couldn't prove what Raymond meant."
I leaned forward.
"Do you still have any records?"
Samuel was silent.
Then he stood.
"Come with me."
He led us into a small study.
At the bottom of a filing cabinet was a sealed envelope.
He placed it on the desk.
"Your father gave me this a week before he died."
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside were copies of bank transfers.
Company records.
And a handwritten letter.
I recognized my father's handwriting from birthday cards Mom had saved.
The letter began with my name.
Marcus.
I couldn't breathe.
I read slowly.
He wrote that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to know he had tried to protect our family's future.
He wrote that money could be replaced.
Integrity couldn't.
And he wrote something that made tears fall onto the paper.
"Son, the greatest thing I will ever leave you is not land or money. It is the knowledge that you are loved. Never let anyone convince you that protecting the people you love makes you weak."
I covered my face.
For twenty-five years, I had wanted one more conversation with my father.
Now I was holding words he had written for me.
Andre placed a hand on my shoulder.
Samuel waited quietly.
When I could finally speak, I asked, "Why did you keep this?"
"Your daddy told me to protect it until the time was right."
"Why didn't you give it to my mother?"
Samuel looked ashamed.
"After the funeral, Raymond warned me not to interfere. I had a wife and three children. I was afraid."
He swallowed.
"I've regretted that decision every day."
I looked at the elderly man.
I wanted to be angry.
But I could see his regret was real.
"You can help now."
He nodded.
"I will."
Before leaving, I photographed the documents and arranged for Daniel to collect the originals properly.
We didn't know what they would prove.
But they gave us a starting point.
On the drive home, Andre was unusually quiet.
Finally, he said, "Marcus, there's something I need to tell you."
I looked at him.
"What?"
He kept his eyes on the road.
"Remember when Nia asked questions about the company?"
"Yes."
"She also asked about a particular payment."
"What payment?"
Andre swallowed.
"A consulting fee we paid to a company called Sterling Business Solutions."
I frowned.
"I don't remember that."
"It was processed through our vendor system."
"Who approved it?"
Andre didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "I did."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because the supporting request appeared to come from you."
I stared at him.
"How much?"
"Forty-eight thousand dollars."
I felt sick.
"Where did it go?"
"We're checking."
I looked out the window.
My closest friend had approved a payment he thought I authorized.
My former bride had access to my home.
My uncle was pressuring me to sell.
And Victor Hayes controlled a network of companies surrounding our property.
The pieces were beginning to connect.
Then Andre's phone rang.
It was Jasmine.
Her voice sounded frightened through the car speakers.
"Andre, Marcus, you need to get back here."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Someone accessed the company files."
My heart stopped.
"What files?"
"The Bennett land records. They copied everything."
I leaned forward.
"Who?"
Jasmine hesitated.
Then she said, "The security footage shows Nia entering the office last night."
I felt a cold wave pass through me.
"How did she get inside?"
May you like
Jasmine's answer was worse than anything I expected.
"She used your access code."
