Chapter 6
I drove to Isaiah's house that evening.
He was waiting on the porch.
His expression was serious.
I barely said hello.
"Where's the folder?"
He nodded toward the living room.
"Inside."
We sat at the dining table.
Isaiah placed an old brown envelope between us.
Our father's handwriting covered the front.
"For Marcus and Isaiah."
My throat tightened.
Dad had been a quiet man.
He worked as a maintenance supervisor for nearly thirty years.
He wasn't wealthy.
But he always paid his bills.
Always helped neighbors.
And always reminded us that honesty mattered more than appearances.
When he died, I believed his estate was simple.
A small savings account.
Personal belongings.
And a house he had sold shortly before becoming ill.
The sale had helped cover medical expenses.
That was what I understood.
Isaiah opened the envelope.
Inside were copies of property records.
A handwritten letter.
And several bank statements.
I stared at the documents.
Then I began reading Dad's letter.
"My boys, there are things I need you to understand about the house."
My chest tightened.
He explained that he had intended to keep the property in the family.
He hoped one of us might live there someday.
But during his final illness, he became overwhelmed by medical bills and financial pressure.
A real estate investor approached him with an offer.
Dad initially refused.
Then someone claimed the property had serious title problems.
He was told a legal dispute could prevent him from selling later.
He became frightened.
Eventually, he agreed to a sale at a price below what he believed the house was worth.
I looked up.
"Who was the investor?"
Isaiah swallowed.
"Keep reading."
I returned to the letter.
Dad wrote that he regretted the decision.
He believed he had been pressured.
But he didn't know whether the information he'd received was accurate.
He wanted us to investigate only if we felt it was necessary.
Then I reached the buyer's name.
Lawson Residential Holdings.
My stomach turned.
Lawson.
Derrick Lawson.
I stared at Isaiah.
"Are you telling me Derrick bought Dad's house?"
Isaiah shook his head.
"Not directly. The company appears connected to him."
I felt cold.
"How do you know?"
Isaiah placed another document on the table.
Company registration records.
Derrick had been listed as a manager during the relevant period.
I stared.
The room seemed to spin.
Dad had sold his house five years earlier.
Tasha and I had started dating four years ago.
Derrick was her former boyfriend.
And now both were involved in questionable dealings concerning my property.
Was it coincidence?
Or had someone been watching my family for years?
I took a breath.
"We need to verify all this."
Isaiah nodded.
"I know."
I called Nicole.
She listened carefully.
Then asked us to preserve the documents.
She said we would need a proper title review and legal analysis before drawing conclusions.
I agreed.
The next morning, we met with a real estate litigation attorney named Robert Ellis.
He examined the records.
He explained that purchasing property below market value wasn't automatically illegal.
Neither was negotiating aggressively.
But false representations, fraud, or improper pressure could create legal issues depending on the evidence and timing.
I nodded.
"What can we do?"
"First, determine exactly what happened."
Robert reviewed the transfer.
The sale price had been $142,000.
Nearby comparable properties at the time suggested the value may have been significantly higher.
But the condition of Dad's house also mattered.
We needed an appraisal based on historical conditions.
Then Robert found something.
A letter sent to Dad before the sale.
It claimed a third party had challenged his ownership.
The letter came from a company affiliated with Lawson Residential Holdings.
I stared.
"Was the claim real?"
Robert frowned.
"We need to find the supporting records."
He requested copies of any filed legal proceedings.
By the afternoon, we had an answer.
There was no recorded lawsuit matching the claim described in the letter.
That didn't prove every allegation was false.
But it raised serious questions.
I looked at Robert.
"Could they have frightened Dad into selling?"
"Possibly. We need more evidence."
I nodded.
I wanted certainty.
But I was learning not to confuse suspicion with proof.
That evening, I went to Dad's grave.
I brought flowers.
Then I sat beside the headstone.
For a long time, I didn't speak.
Finally, I whispered, "Dad, I'm sorry."
My voice broke.
"I didn't know."
I thought about the months before his death.
How tired he looked.
How often he told me not to worry.
I had been building my company.
Working long days.
Trying to prove I could succeed.
I didn't know he was carrying this fear alone.
Tears rolled down my face.
"I wish you'd told me."
Then I remembered his final words to me.
"Build your life honestly, son. Nobody can take that from you."
I had carried those words for years.
Now they felt different.
I wiped my eyes.
"I'll find out what happened."
When I returned home, Nicole called.
She had spoken with Alicia.
Alicia remembered seeing old files related to Lawson Residential Holdings.
She believed Derrick had inherited some records from an earlier investment company.
She also remembered Tasha discussing my father's former property during a meeting.
My chest tightened.
"Why would Tasha know about that?"
Nicole paused.
"That's what we're trying to determine."
Then Alicia provided another piece of information.
According to her, Tasha had once told Derrick that I still felt guilty about not helping Dad financially.
I closed my eyes.
I had told Tasha that in confidence.
During one of our first years together.
Late at night.
When I was grieving.
She had held my hand and told me everything would be okay.
Now I wondered whether she had passed that vulnerability to Derrick.
Nicole continued.
"Alicia says Derrick believed the subject could make you emotionally reactive."
I felt sick.
He wanted to use my father's memory against me.
To pressure me.
To make me act impulsively.
I took a long breath.
"Then we don't give him that."
Nicole agreed.
"Exactly."
The following week, Robert obtained additional correspondence.
One email was particularly important.
It showed Derrick discussing the old property transaction with a former business partner.
The message referred to creating "urgency" around the sale.
Then it mentioned the ownership dispute.
I stared at the words.
The email didn't establish every fact.
But it contradicted the story that Dad had freely accepted an ordinary offer without pressure.
Robert believed the documents warranted further investigation.
He advised us about possible claims and limitations periods.
Some legal remedies might no longer be available because of the time that had passed.
But other avenues could remain open depending on the evidence.
I appreciated his honesty.
I didn't want promises.
I wanted truth.
Then, one afternoon, Tasha appeared at my house.
She stood outside the front door wearing a dark green dress.
Her expression was desperate.
I spoke to her through the doorbell camera.
"What do you want?"
She looked toward the lens.
"Marcus, please."
I stayed silent.
She continued.
"Derrick lied to me."
My chest tightened.
"About what?"
She began crying.
"About everything."
I looked at the screen.
Then she said something I hadn't expected.
"He told me your father cheated his company."
I froze.
"What?"
Tasha wiped her face.
"He said your family owed him money."
I stared.
She continued.
"That's why he wanted the building."
My stomach turned.
Then she whispered, "Marcus, there's something else."
I took a breath.
"What?"
She looked directly into the camera.
May you like
"I found proof Derrick planned to leave me with all the blame."
And suddenly, the woman who had helped humiliate me was standing outside my door asking me to protect her from the man she had trusted.
