Chapter 3
I stared at the signature.
It looked almost perfect.
The same slanted letters.
The same long stroke beneath my last name.
But something was wrong.
I always signed Marcus D. Bennett.
The document said Marcus B. Bennett.
My last initial had been used in place of my middle initial.
I looked at Tasha.
"Who signed this?"
She stared at the paper.
Then whispered, "I don't know."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Tasha."
"I didn't sign it."
Nicole leaned forward.
"Then who prepared the document?"
Tasha looked toward the back door.
"I need a minute."
I stepped aside.
"Take one."
She walked into the kitchen.
I heard her open a cabinet.
Then the refrigerator.
A glass clinked against the countertop.
Nicole turned toward me.
"Marcus, we should preserve the original inquiry records and let the lender investigate the signature."
I nodded.
"Do you think Derrick forged it?"
"I don't know."
I stared at the page.
My father's middle name had been Daniel.
He died five years earlier.
I used that name in my signature to honor him.
Tasha knew that.
Derrick probably didn't.
But I couldn't make accusations without evidence.
Nicole continued.
"The important thing is that the lender didn't approve a transaction. We can formally dispute the authorization."
I nodded.
Then Tasha returned.
She looked pale.
"I want Nicole to leave."
I studied her.
"Why?"
"Because this is between us."
Nicole remained silent.
I looked at Tasha.
"A legal document with my disputed signature is not something I'm handling through an argument."
Tasha's expression hardened.
"You're really going to treat me like a criminal?"
"I'm asking what happened."
She crossed her arms.
"Maybe you should ask Derrick."
I stared at her.
"Then give me his number."
She hesitated.
"I don't have it."
I almost laughed.
"You contacted him about a property investment, but you don't have his number?"
She looked away.
I took a breath.
"How long have you been speaking to him?"
Tasha said nothing.
"How long?"
"Six months."
My stomach tightened.
Six months.
During those months, Tasha had become increasingly distant.
She stopped asking about my business.
Complained about our relationship.
And frequently told me I wasn't ambitious enough.
I remembered one evening when I came home after completing a major renovation.
I wanted to celebrate.
Tasha barely looked up from her phone.
"That's nice," she said.
Then she asked whether I had remembered to pay for her car maintenance.
I had ignored the disappointment.
Now I wondered what else I had ignored.
"Are you involved with him?" I asked.
Tasha looked shocked.
"What?"
"Are you seeing Derrick?"
She laughed bitterly.
"You're unbelievable."
"Answer me."
She folded her arms.
"We've had lunch a few times."
I felt cold.
"Did you tell me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you'd be jealous."
I looked at her.
"Tasha, you contacted your ex-boyfriend about borrowing against my house."
She shook her head.
"Stop making it sound dirty."
I stared at her.
Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me.
"Did you ever actually respect me?"
Her expression changed.
For one moment, I saw uncertainty.
Then she said, "Respect has to be earned."
I felt something inside me break.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a quiet realization.
For four years, I had been trying to earn respect from someone who enjoyed withholding it.
I looked at Nicole.
"I want the lender formally notified that I dispute this signature."
She nodded.
"Of course."
Tasha threw up her hands.
"Fine. Do whatever you want."
I turned toward her.
"I also think we need time apart."
Her face changed.
"What?"
"I don't trust what's happening."
She laughed.
"You're breaking up with me over paperwork?"
"No."
I looked directly at her.
"I'm reconsidering this relationship because you've repeatedly humiliated me, concealed financial dealings, and lied about contacting Derrick."
She stared.
I continued.
"The paperwork is evidence of a problem. It isn't the whole problem."
Tasha's eyes filled.
"After everything I did for you?"
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
The reminder.
The debt.
The idea that helping someone during a difficult time entitled her to disrespect him forever.
I opened my eyes.
"I appreciated your help when I was struggling."
She nodded sharply.
"Exactly."
"But gratitude doesn't mean I owe you control over my future."
She stared at me.
Then grabbed her handbag.
"I'm leaving."
I stepped aside.
"That's your choice."
She stopped near the door.
"You'll come begging."
I said nothing.
She slammed the door behind her.
For a long time, I stood in the kitchen.
Nicole quietly gathered the documents.
"Are you okay?"
I shook my head.
"No."
She nodded.
"I understand."
I looked toward the backyard.
The grill was cold.
The tables were messy.
Half-eaten burgers sat on paper plates.
I felt exhausted.
Then Nicole said something unexpected.
"Marcus, there's another reason I wanted to bring the folder personally."
I turned.
"What?"
She pulled out a second set of papers.
These were unrelated to the refinancing inquiry.
They concerned a commercial property.
A small office building on the east side of Atlanta.
I recognized the address.
My company had renovated it eighteen months earlier.
At the time, the owner couldn't pay the full construction balance.
We negotiated a legal arrangement that gave my business a partial ownership interest.
Over time, I purchased the remaining interest.
Nicole had handled the transaction.
The final closing had taken place that morning.
I stared at the documents.
"Everything went through?"
She smiled.
"Yes."
I sat down.
The building was now owned by my holding company.
It wasn't a mansion.
It wasn't a fortune.
But it represented years of work.
Long nights.
Missed weekends.
Risk.
Patience.
Something I had built without anyone handing it to me.
Nicole placed the keys on the table.
"Congratulations, Marcus."
For the first time that evening, I smiled.
"Thank you."
She returned the smile.
Then her expression became serious.
"There's one more thing."
I looked up.
"What?"
"During the closing process, the seller mentioned receiving an inquiry from someone claiming to represent you."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
Nicole paused.
"Derrick Lawson."
I stared at her.
She continued.
"He asked whether you intended to sell the building after closing."
I felt cold.
"Why?"
"Apparently, he said he had an interested buyer."
I stared at the keys.
Then at the disputed refinancing papers.
Derrick had been asking about my house.
Now he was asking about my commercial property.
I looked at Nicole.
"Does Tasha know about this building?"
She hesitated.
"Did you tell her?"
I thought back.
Months earlier, I had mentioned that my company might acquire a property.
Tasha barely listened.
She told me not to waste money on another failed project.
I shook my head.
"She knows something."
Nicole nodded.
"Then we should be careful."
That night, after Nicole left, I received a message from Tasha.
"Marcus, I know you're upset. But you're about to ruin something that could make us rich."
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
"Derrick says your building is worth more than you realize."
I stopped breathing.
My commercial property.
The house.
The forged signature.
May you like
They were connected.
And suddenly, I understood that Tasha's public humiliation might have been part of a much larger plan.
