Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Knew Too Much
I spread the documents across Jasmine's small kitchen table.
Every page seemed to reveal another betrayal.
The forged letter.
The anonymous complaint.
The bank security notice.
And the copy of an email that looked as though it had come from my business account.
I had spent twenty years building Carter Construction.
I knew every major account, every important client, and every employee with financial access.
I also knew something Nia had apparently forgotten.
I kept detailed records.
“Dad?”
Jasmine touched my shoulder.
I looked up.
“Are you okay?”
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to tell her everything would be fine.
But I had promised myself I would stop protecting her from the truth simply because it was painful.
“No,” I answered. “I'm not okay.”
Her expression fell.
“But I'm going to fix this.”
She sat beside me.
“I don't want you to lose your marriage.”
I gently took her hand.
“Sweetheart, a marriage shouldn't require a father to abandon his child.”
Tears filled her eyes again.
I put the documents back into the envelope.
Then I called my attorney.
His name was Raymond Brooks.
We had known each other since before my company became successful.
Raymond had helped me buy my first commercial property.
He had handled Danielle's estate after she died.
And he had been standing beside me when I married Nia.
He answered immediately.
“Marcus. Everything alright?”
“No.”
There was a pause.
“What happened?”
“I think somebody has been using my identity.”
His tone changed.
“Tell me exactly what you mean.”
I described the forged letter and university complaint.
Then I explained the suspicious bank restriction.
Raymond listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he asked one question.
“Do you still have control of your business accounts?”
“I believe so.”
“That's not what I asked.”
I looked at Jasmine.
“I haven't checked everything.”
“Then we need to do that immediately.”
Raymond told me not to accuse anyone further until we preserved the evidence.
He advised me to contact the bank's fraud department, secure my email account, and check every user with access to financial systems.
“Marcus,” he added, “if someone submitted documents pretending to be you, this could go well beyond a domestic disagreement.”
I knew he was right.
But knowing didn't make it easier.
After the call, Jasmine brought me a glass of water.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you really think Nia did all this?”
I studied her face.
“I think she knows more than she's admitting.”
Jasmine nodded slowly.
“She used to be nice to me.”
The words surprised me.
“Really?”
“In the beginning.”
She gave a sad smile.
“She took me shopping before your wedding. She asked about Mom. She even said she wasn't trying to replace her.”
I remembered that afternoon.
I had been so relieved when Jasmine came home smiling.
For years, I had worried that remarrying might make her feel as though Danielle was being forgotten.
Nia had seemed determined to reassure her.
“What changed?” I asked.
Jasmine looked away.
“After you updated your estate plan.”
My heart skipped.
“What?”
“She asked me whether you had changed your will.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“A few months after the wedding.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I didn't know.”
Jasmine twisted her fingers together.
“She said it would be unfair if everything went to me just because I was your daughter.”
I felt a chill.
I had updated my estate documents after marrying Nia.
But I hadn't disinherited Jasmine.
Instead, I had kept the protections Danielle and I had established for our daughter while providing separately for my new wife.
Nia knew that.
At least, I thought she did.
My phone rang.
It was Nia.
I let it ring.
A moment later, a message appeared.
Baby, please come home. I made a mistake. We need to talk privately.
Another arrived.
Don't involve outsiders in our marriage.
Then another.
Whatever Jasmine told you, she's trying to destroy us.
I showed Raymond the messages when he called back.
He asked me to preserve them.
Then he delivered troubling news.
“I checked the corporate records you sent me last quarter,” he said. “Nia was never supposed to have administrative access to your company email.”
“She doesn't.”
“Are you certain?”
I remembered something.
Six months earlier, Nia had asked for help registering an online charity event.
She said she needed to send invitations using my company name because I was sponsoring the fundraiser.
I had allowed her to use my laptop.
I had even entered my password for her.
At the time, it seemed harmless.
Now the memory made me sick.
“I may have made a mistake,” I admitted.
Raymond sighed.
“Get that laptop secured.”
I couldn't go home without knowing what I might find.
But I also couldn't leave Nia alone with my office records.
So I contacted Daniel Price, my company's operations director.
Daniel had worked with me for eleven years.
He was loyal, careful, and almost painfully thorough.
“Daniel, I need you to check our financial permissions.”
“Everything okay, boss?”
“I'm not sure.”
I told him to temporarily suspend external account access pending a security review.
He agreed.
Then he hesitated.
“Marcus, there's actually something I've been meaning to discuss with you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A payment authorization from last month.”
“How much?”
He cleared his throat.
“Forty-two thousand dollars.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“For what?”
“Consulting services.”
“Who approved it?”
There was a long silence.
“Your signature is on the request.”
I stood.
“Daniel, I didn't approve any forty-two-thousand-dollar consulting payment.”
He said nothing.
“Who received the money?”
“An outside company called Sterling Advisory Group.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Have we ever worked with them?”
“Not before this year.”
“Who submitted the invoice?”
Another pause.
“Your wife.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The first financial connection.
Not proof of every accusation, but enough to make my skin crawl.
I asked Daniel to preserve the records and notify our bank's security team.
Then I called Raymond again.
He told me to come to his office the next morning with everything I had.
I promised.
By then, Jasmine was watching me with frightened eyes.
“Dad, what's happening?”
I sat beside her.
“I think someone may be stealing from my company.”
She covered her mouth.
“Nia?”
“I don't know the full truth yet.”
I refused to make my daughter carry accusations that hadn't been proven.
But there was no denying the pattern.
Someone had tried to interfere with Jasmine's education.
Someone had impersonated me.
And someone had arranged suspicious payments through my business.
Late that evening, I finally returned home.
Nia was waiting in the living room.
Her makeup had been repaired.
Her hair was perfect.
Two wineglasses sat on the table.
She smiled when I entered.
“Baby, thank goodness.”
I didn't return the smile.
“We need to talk.”
She approached me.
“I know. I overreacted.”
She reached for my hand.
I stepped away.
“Did you send a letter to Jasmine's university pretending to be me?”
Her smile disappeared.
“No.”
“Did you try to block her bank transfer?”
“No.”
“Did you submit a forty-two-thousand-dollar invoice to my company?”
Nia went completely still.
Then she whispered something I wasn't expecting.
“Marcus, you don't understand.”
I stared at her.
“Then explain it.”
Her eyes shifted toward the staircase.
She lowered her voice.
“I wasn't supposed to be the one who did it.”
My heart pounded.
“What does that mean?”
Before she could answer, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
And suddenly, she looked more frightened than she had when I confronted her about Jasmine.
She turned the phone away.
But I saw the caller's name.
May you like
Adrian.
My younger brother.
