Chapter 4
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Tasha laughing beside the grill.
Then I saw the disputed signature.
Then Derrick's name.
I kept asking myself the same question.
How much did they know about my finances?
At seven the next morning, I called Nicole.
She answered immediately.
"Marcus?"
"I think we need to review everything."
She paused.
"What do you mean?"
"The house. The commercial building. Any inquiries connected to Derrick."
Nicole took a breath.
"I agree."
We scheduled a meeting for ten.
Before leaving, I called my younger brother, Isaiah.
He was twenty-nine and worked as a firefighter.
We had always been close.
When I explained what happened, he went silent.
Then he said, "Tasha did what?"
I sighed.
"It's complicated."
He laughed without humor.
"She insulted you in front of your own guests, then tried to borrow against your house?"
"We don't know exactly who submitted the signature."
"Marcus."
"I know."
He took a breath.
"Listen to me. Stop protecting her reputation while she's destroying yours."
I stared at the wall.
Isaiah continued.
"You've been making excuses for Tasha for years."
I didn't answer.
Because he was right.
Whenever she mocked me, I called it humor.
Whenever she dismissed my business, I said she was stressed.
Whenever she compared me to wealthier men, I told myself she wanted me to succeed.
I had turned disrespect into something I could tolerate.
And I had done it so often that I barely noticed anymore.
"I don't want to become bitter," I told him.
"You don't have to. Just stop letting people treat you badly."
His words stayed with me.
At Nicole's office, we reviewed the refinancing inquiry.
The lender confirmed that no loan had been approved.
No money had been released.
The inquiry was under internal review.
Nicole helped me submit a formal dispute concerning the signature and authorization.
Then we examined the commercial property records.
Derrick had contacted the previous owner twice.
Both calls occurred before the closing.
He claimed to represent an investment group interested in buying the building.
Nicole asked whether I recognized the group's name.
I didn't.
It was called Lawson Capital Partners.
I stared at the page.
Derrick's surname.
Nicole looked at me.
"That appears to be his company."
I nodded.
"Can we find out what he wanted?"
"We can review publicly available information and ask the seller for any records he has."
We did.
The former owner forwarded an email Derrick had sent.
It contained a proposed purchase price.
I stared.
The offer was nearly twenty percent higher than what my company had paid.
My stomach tightened.
"Why would he pay that much?"
Nicole studied the message.
"Perhaps he believes the property will increase in value."
I thought about the neighborhood.
Several buildings were being renovated.
A new transit project was under consideration.
Demand for commercial space had been increasing.
The building might be worth more than I realized.
But why had Derrick approached the seller instead of me?
And why was Tasha suddenly interested?
Then Nicole noticed something.
The proposed buyer had requested confidentiality.
The seller was asked not to disclose the offer to the current purchaser.
Me.
I stared at the email.
"Why would they want it hidden?"
Nicole leaned back.
"That's a question for Derrick."
I felt sick.
That afternoon, I called Tasha.
She answered immediately.
"Finally."
I kept my voice calm.
"We need to talk."
She sighed.
"About us?"
"About Derrick."
Silence.
Then she said, "What about him?"
"Why was he trying to buy my commercial building?"
She didn't answer.
"Tasha."
"He saw an opportunity."
"How did he know about the property?"
She hesitated.
"I mentioned it."
I closed my eyes.
"When?"
"A few months ago."
I took a breath.
"What exactly did you tell him?"
She became defensive.
"Why does it matter?"
"Because he approached the seller before my closing."
Tasha went quiet.
Then she said, "Marcus, you're missing the point."
"What point?"
"Derrick knows investors. He knows how to make money."
I stared at the phone.
"And?"
"He said you could sell the building quickly and make a profit."
I frowned.
"Then why didn't he contact me?"
She sighed.
"Because you never listen."
I felt anger rise.
"Tasha, you never told me."
"Because you would've said no."
I stood.
"That's not your decision to make."
She laughed bitterly.
"There you go again."
I gripped the phone.
"What?"
"Acting like you know everything."
I took a breath.
Then asked one final question.
"Did you give Derrick access to any of my financial documents?"
Silence.
Long enough to answer.
I closed my eyes.
"Tasha."
She whispered, "I showed him a few things."
My stomach dropped.
"What things?"
"Some statements."
"Which statements?"
She hesitated.
"Your business records."
I couldn't speak.
Then she added, "He said he needed them to evaluate the opportunity."
I sat down.
My confidential business records.
The ones I had kept in my home office.
The ones Tasha had access to because we lived together.
I felt betrayed in a way I couldn't explain.
"How many documents did you give him?"
She sighed.
"I don't remember."
I stared at the floor.
Then I said, "We're done."
Tasha went silent.
"What?"
"Our relationship is over."
She laughed nervously.
"Marcus, stop."
"No."
"You can't just throw away four years."
I looked toward the framed photograph of my father on the wall.
He had taught me to work hard.
To speak honestly.
To treat people fairly.
But he had also taught me that trust was something you protected.
"I didn't throw it away," I said.
"You did."
I ended the call.
Then I sat silently for several minutes.
When Nicole called later that afternoon, I told her everything.
She recommended securing my business accounts and changing access permissions.
I immediately contacted my accountant.
We reviewed company documents.
Updated passwords.
And verified that no unauthorized transactions had been completed.
Then Nicole suggested something else.
"Marcus, we should consider whether your confidential information has been improperly used."
I nodded.
"What do we do?"
"We preserve the evidence and consult the appropriate professionals."
I agreed.
That evening, Isaiah came over.
He brought dinner.
We sat at the kitchen table.
For a while, we ate quietly.
Then he said, "You know Dad would be proud of you."
I looked up.
"Why?"
"Because you finally stood up for yourself."
My throat tightened.
I thought about our father.
He had died before my company became successful.
He never saw the house.
Never saw the commercial building.
Never saw the business I had built.
But he believed in me.
Even when I had nothing.
I smiled faintly.
"I wish he could see it."
Isaiah nodded.
"Me too."
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
"Marcus Bennett, you need to know what Derrick and Tasha are planning."
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
"They aren't trying to help you sell your building."
My stomach tightened.
Then a final message arrived.
"They're trying to make sure you lose it."
I looked at Isaiah.
He read the messages over my shoulder.
Then whispered, "Who is that?"
I shook my head.
May you like
"I don't know."
But whoever it was knew something I desperately needed to understand.
