Chapter 2
I read the email three times before I trusted what my eyes were telling me.
Eighty-five thousand dollars.
My name.
My signature.
And an application I had never authorized.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
My mother noticed immediately.
"Marcus, what's wrong?"
I locked my phone.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
She gave me a look I remembered from childhood.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Tell me nothing is wrong when your face says otherwise."
I sat beside her.
There was no point lying.
"Someone applied for a loan using our house as collateral."
Her fingers tightened around her handbag.
"Who?"
"I don't know yet."
But we both knew who I suspected.
Upstairs, I heard Nia moving around.
A drawer opened.
Something heavy hit the bedroom floor.
Mom lowered her voice.
"Marcus, please don't accuse your wife without knowing."
I stared at her.
Even after being humiliated, she was protecting my marriage.
That was my mother.
Always trying to keep the peace.
Even when peace cost her something.
"I won't accuse anyone," I promised. "I'll find out what happened."
I helped her gather her things.
She tried returning the money.
I closed her fingers around it.
"Pay your bill."
"Baby—"
"Please."
She nodded.
Before leaving, she hugged me longer than usual.
"I don't want you losing your family because of me."
I kissed her forehead.
"You're my family too."
After she left, I called the number in the mortgage email.
A representative named Denise answered.
I explained that I had received a verification request for a loan I hadn't applied for.
Her tone changed immediately.
"Mr. Carter, are you saying you did not authorize the application?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Then we need to flag it for suspected fraud."
I asked for the application date.
"October nineteenth."
One week earlier.
I remembered that day clearly.
I had been in Charlotte for a regional construction conference.
Nia had stayed home.
"Was the application submitted online?" I asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Can you tell me whose email address was used?"
She hesitated.
Then she read it.
My wife's email.
My chest tightened.
"Please freeze the application."
"We can place an immediate fraud hold."
"Do it."
Denise explained that the loan had not been funded.
That was the first good news I had received all afternoon.
But the application had already reached underwriting.
Someone had uploaded documents.
Someone had submitted personal information.
Someone had attached an electronic signature.
And all of it pointed toward my wife.
I thanked Denise and requested the full application records.
Then I went upstairs.
Nia was pulling clothes from our closet.
A suitcase lay open on the bed.
"Going somewhere?" I asked.
She didn't look at me.
"My sister's."
"Why?"
"Because I refuse to stay here while you treat me like some evil woman."
I stood near the doorway.
"Did you apply for a second mortgage?"
Her hands stopped moving.
Only for a second.
Then she resumed folding a blouse.
"What?"
"Eighty-five thousand dollars."
She turned.
"What are you talking about?"
"A loan application was submitted using my name and your email."
Her expression hardened.
"You went through my email?"
"No. The mortgage company contacted me."
She looked away.
"That must be a mistake."
"Then you won't mind showing me the application."
"Marcus, I'm not doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Being interrogated in my own bedroom."
I watched her carefully.
Four years of marriage had taught me when Nia was angry.
This wasn't anger.
It was fear.
"You used my signature," I said.
"I didn't use anything."
"Then explain how the company got your email."
She threw a blouse into the suitcase.
"I've looked into refinancing before. Lots of people do."
"Not without telling their spouses."
She laughed bitterly.
"Maybe I didn't tell you because I knew you'd run straight to your mother."
I felt heat rise in my chest.
"Stop bringing her into this."
"Everything comes back to Evelyn with you."
"This is about a fraudulent loan application."
Nia walked toward me.
"You want the truth?"
"Yes."
"I was trying to get us ahead financially."
"By borrowing eighty-five thousand dollars?"
"We have opportunities you're too afraid to take."
"What opportunities?"
She paused.
Then she named a business.
Golden Bridge Property Group.
I had heard of it.
Her older brother, Darren, had started the company two years earlier.
According to Nia, it invested in distressed properties around Atlanta.
I had met Darren several times.
He wore expensive watches, drove a luxury SUV, and always seemed to have a new investment idea.
I never trusted him.
"Is this about Darren?" I asked.
Nia's eyes narrowed.
"Don't start."
"Did he ask you for money?"
"He offered us a chance to invest."
"With eighty-five thousand dollars borrowed against our home?"
She folded her arms.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"He has a development project. Investors are getting returns. We could double that money."
I stared at her.
"Double it?"
"Possibly."
"And what happens if the project fails?"
She looked irritated.
"It won't."
I shook my head.
"That's not an answer."
She grabbed her suitcase.
"You never support anything I want."
"I supported you starting your real estate career. I paid for your licensing classes. I helped you through six months without commissions."
Her face twisted.
"And there it is. The list of everything you've done for me."
"No, Nia. This is a list of things we discussed before spending money."
She shoved past me.
At the stairs, I stopped her.
"Did Darren know you were using my information?"
Her face went pale.
That was answer enough.
She turned away.
"Move, Marcus."
I stepped aside.
She carried the suitcase downstairs.
At the front door, she stopped.
"I hope your mother was worth destroying this marriage."
I looked directly at her.
"My mother didn't do this."
Nia slammed the door.
I stood alone in the hallway.
Then I called Darren.
He didn't answer.
I tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
My phone buzzed seconds later.
A text from an unknown number.
"Marcus, you need to be careful. Your wife and her brother are in serious trouble."
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
"I used to work for Golden Bridge. They've done this before."
Then came a photograph.
It showed Darren sitting at a restaurant table beside Nia.
Between them lay a stack of financial documents.
The top page contained my name.
May you like
And underneath it was something worse.
My mother's address.
