Chapter 7
Malcolm's employer called the next morning.
My son listened without interrupting.
I watched his expression grow darker with every sentence.
When the call ended, he sat down heavily.
“They've suspended my site access.”
My heart sank.
“For how long?”
“Until they investigate the complaint.”
“What did Curtis tell them?”
“That I took equipment from a storage facility and sold it privately.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“They have to check.”
“Do you have proof you didn't?”
Malcolm nodded.
“I wasn't even at that location on the dates he gave them.”
He opened his laptop.
Flight records.
Work logs.
Time sheets.
Security badge records.
Everything showed where he had been.
I watched him organize the evidence.
Then I said, “Send copies to your employer and Claire.”
“I already am.”
For once, he didn't look helpless.
He looked determined.
That afternoon, investigators from the bank contacted Malcolm.
They had reviewed the first set of disputed transactions.
The bank representative explained that several transfers had been initiated using credentials associated with Malcolm's household.
But the bank was still working to determine whether those transactions were properly authorized.
Malcolm requested a full written report.
He also filed an identity-theft report concerning the loan application and contacted law enforcement about the suspected financial fraud.
Claire helped him organize the documents.
Meanwhile, Mr. Whitcomb continued reviewing the trust records.
The more we learned, the clearer one thing became.
Nicole had taken extraordinary steps to protect Isaiah.
She had established the trust through an independent trustee.
She had written detailed instructions.
And she had named people she believed would honor her wishes.
Including me.
I still couldn't think about that without crying.
On Wednesday, Mr. Whitcomb invited Malcolm and me to his office.
He placed a thick folder on the conference table.
“Nicole wanted certain information shared with Isaiah when he was old enough.”
I looked at the folder.
“Is this about the letter?”
“Partly.”
Malcolm leaned forward.
“What else?”
Mr. Whitcomb opened the file.
“Nicole owned a small interest in her father's commercial property company. After her death, that interest passed into the trust for Isaiah.”
I stared.
“Property?”
“Yes.”
“How much is it worth?”
“The value varies. Our most recent valuation places Isaiah's trust assets, including that interest, at approximately four hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
I couldn't speak.
Malcolm looked equally stunned.
“Nicole never told me.”
“She planned to explain everything,” Mr. Whitcomb said. “Her health declined before that could happen.”
My eyes filled.
Nicole had been worried about her son's future.
Even as she faced losing her own.
Malcolm rubbed his forehead.
“Does Isaiah get access when he's eighteen?”
“The trust specifies staged distributions and trustee oversight. Its purpose is education, housing, and long-term support.”
I nodded.
That sounded exactly like Nicole.
Careful.
Thoughtful.
Always planning ahead.
Mr. Whitcomb continued.
“The suspicious paperwork attempted to accelerate access and redirect funds through a proposed family-managed entity.”
Malcolm went pale.
“C&L Auto Group?”
“No. Another entity. We are checking its ownership.”
He slid the document toward us.
A company name appeared near the bottom.
North Ridge Family Holdings.
I'd never heard of it.
But Malcolm had.
His face changed.
“Tasha asked me to sign papers for that company.”
I turned toward him.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Did you?”
“No. She said it was for a tax-saving investment, but I didn't understand it, so I refused.”
Mr. Whitcomb looked very serious.
“Keep any messages concerning that request.”
Malcolm nodded.
Then he looked down at the forged document.
“She must have found another way.”
“Possibly,” Mr. Whitcomb replied. “That's what the investigation must establish.”
We left the office overwhelmed.
But something changed that day.
For the first time, I wasn't only afraid.
I had hope.
The bank account was under investigation.
The trust was protected.
Isaiah was safe at my house.
And Malcolm was finally confronting the truth.
That evening, we ordered pizza.
Isaiah picked pepperoni.
Malcolm chose cheese.
I made a salad nobody wanted.
For twenty minutes, we felt like an ordinary family.
Then the doorbell rang.
I looked through the peephole.
Jordan and Ava stood on my porch.
Alone.
Jordan held a small overnight bag.
Ava was crying.
I opened the door immediately.
“Sweethearts, what happened?”
Jordan looked behind him before answering.
“Mom's really angry.”
“Where is she?”
“At home.”
“Does she know you're here?”
He shook his head.
I stepped aside.
“Come inside.”
Ava ran straight toward Malcolm.
He dropped to his knees.
She wrapped both arms around his neck.
“Dad, please don't leave us.”
Malcolm held her close.
“I'm not leaving you.”
Jordan stood near the doorway.
He looked uncomfortable.
Then he whispered, “Mom said you're going to jail.”
Malcolm went still.
“What?”
“She said Grandma made up lies and the police are coming for you.”
I felt anger rise inside me.
But I forced myself to stay calm.
Malcolm looked at Jordan.
“That isn't true.”
Jordan swallowed.
“Then why was Uncle Curtis shouting at Mom?”
“What was he shouting?”
Jordan stared at the floor.
“He said she better fix it before the bank finds out.”
My heart began pounding.
Ava wiped her face.
“Mom was crying. She said everything was ruined.”
Malcolm reached for his phone.
He called Renee, who agreed to come help and contact Tasha about the children's whereabouts.
I made hot chocolate while we waited.
Jordan sat beside Isaiah.
For a while, neither boy spoke.
Then Jordan looked at the new backpack.
“That's cool.”
Isaiah nodded.
“Grandma bought it.”
Jordan hesitated.
“I'm sorry I laughed at your old one.”
Isaiah looked surprised.
Then he smiled a little.
“It's okay.”
I watched them.
Two children.
Neither responsible for the choices adults had made.
And I realized that if we handled this badly, the damage could spread to every child in the family.
That night, after Renee arrived, Malcolm received another call from Claire.
The bank had identified additional records requiring review.
And the police wanted to interview Curtis.
But Claire's final words surprised me.
“Evelyn, Tasha has asked to speak with an attorney.”
I exhaled.
May you like
“Good.”
Because maybe, finally, the lies were beginning to collapse.
