Chapter 6
I held the phone against my ear, trying to understand what Nia had just said.
"The money is already gone."
One hundred and twelve thousand dollars.
Money connected to fraudulent property transactions.
Gone.
"Where did it go?" I demanded.
Nia was crying so hard I could barely understand her.
"Darren told me to transfer it."
"To whom?"
"A company account."
"What company?"
"I don't know. It was an account he gave me."
I closed my eyes.
"You moved over a hundred thousand dollars without knowing where it was going?"
"He said investors needed their deposits returned."
"And you believed him?"
"I was scared."
I paced the guest bedroom.
"When did you make the transfer?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
Yesterday afternoon.
After my mother had been threatened.
After Nia knew something was wrong.
I stopped walking.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you'd hate me."
The answer hurt.
Not because it was cruel.
Because she had chosen protecting herself over protecting my mother.
"Send Angela every transaction record you have," I said.
"Marcus, I'm frightened."
"You should be."
"Will you help me?"
I leaned against the dresser.
"I'll help make sure the truth comes out."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
She started sobbing again.
"I still love you."
I stared at our wedding photograph on my phone.
For years, I had believed love meant fighting to keep two people together.
Now I was learning something different.
Sometimes love couldn't survive without trust.
And trust couldn't survive repeated betrayal.
"I need to go," I said.
"Marcus—"
I ended the call.
Then I sat on the edge of my childhood bed and cried.
I wasn't ashamed.
I was grieving.
Not a death.
But the marriage I thought I'd had.
The woman I thought I knew.
And the future we'd planned together.
A knock came at the door.
"Baby?"
Mom.
I quickly wiped my face.
"Come in."
She opened the door and looked at me.
Then she crossed the room and sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
After a moment, she put her arm around my shoulders.
And I broke.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
She pulled me closer.
"For what?"
"For bringing this into your life."
"Marcus, you didn't do this."
"I married her."
"You loved her."
I shook my head.
"I should've seen it."
"People can hide terrible things from the ones who trust them most."
I buried my face in my hands.
"Four years, Mom."
"I know."
"I gave her everything I could."
Mom waited.
Then she said softly, "You didn't lose your worth because someone betrayed your trust."
I looked at her.
"You taught me that when Dad died."
She smiled sadly.
"I learned it the hard way."
We sat together until my breathing settled.
Then my phone rang.
Angela.
"Marcus, I need you at my office."
"Why?"
"We've located another homeowner who appears to have been targeted by Golden Bridge."
I sat upright.
"Another victim?"
"Yes. And she has information about Darren."
Two hours later, I walked into Angela's office.
A woman in her late sixties sat across from the conference table.
She wore a purple cardigan and held a folder tightly against her chest.
Angela introduced us.
"Marcus, this is Mrs. Lorraine Davis."
Lorraine looked at me with exhausted eyes.
"Your mother is Evelyn Carter?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She nodded.
"I'm sorry about what happened to her."
I sat beside her.
"What happened to you?"
Her hands trembled.
"That man told me he could help with my medical bills."
"Darren?"
"Yes."
She explained that her husband had died the previous year.
She had fallen behind on expenses.
Golden Bridge offered to arrange financing without requiring her to sell her home.
At least, that's what Darren told her.
She signed documents she barely understood.
Weeks later, she discovered a large loan had been opened against her property.
Most of the money never reached her.
My stomach twisted.
"How much?" I asked.
"Eighty-four thousand dollars."
I stared at her.
She looked away.
"I received six thousand."
I couldn't speak.
Lorraine continued.
"When I complained, Darren said I'd signed an agreement."
Her eyes filled.
"I thought I was going to lose the house my husband built."
Angela leaned forward.
"Mrs. Davis has already filed a formal fraud report. Her lender is reviewing the transaction."
I turned toward Lorraine.
"Did anyone else work with Darren?"
She nodded.
"A woman named Nia."
The room went quiet.
My heart began pounding again.
"What did she do?"
Lorraine hesitated.
"She brought the papers to my house."
I felt sick.
"Did she explain them?"
"She said they were safe. She said I'd be able to pay my bills and keep my home."
I lowered my head.
My wife hadn't just been involved in something that hurt my mother.
Another elderly woman had trusted her too.
Lorraine reached toward me.
"I'm not telling you this to hurt you, son."
"I know."
"But I wanted you to understand."
I looked at her.
She wiped her eyes.
"Your wife knew I was frightened."
I couldn't answer.
"She held my hand and promised everything would be fine."
My chest tightened.
That afternoon, Angela advised me to stop discussing the case directly with Nia except through appropriate legal channels.
I agreed.
The matter had moved far beyond a family argument.
Investigators needed the records.
Victims needed protection.
And anyone involved needed to answer for what they'd done.
As we prepared to leave, Lorraine stopped me.
"Marcus, there's one more thing."
"What is it?"
"Darren has a partner."
I frowned.
"Who?"
"I don't remember his name. But I remember his face."
Angela opened her laptop.
Lorraine described the man.
Tall.
Thin beard.
Expensive glasses.
A silver ring on his right hand.
I suddenly remembered someone.
Nia's former supervisor at the real estate office.
Calvin Ross.
I found his photograph online.
Lorraine pointed immediately.
"That's him."
I felt my stomach drop.
Calvin had attended my wedding.
He'd eaten dinner in my house.
He'd called me his friend.
And now he was connected to the same fraudulent business that had targeted my mother.
Angela stared at the screen.
"Marcus, this changes things."
I looked at the photograph.
Because Calvin wasn't just Nia's former supervisor.
May you like
He was the man who had originally introduced me to her.
And I began to wonder whether my marriage had been built on something far darker than I ever imagined.
