Chapter 4
Simone had held me while I cried at my mother's funeral.
She had wiped my tears, kissed my forehead, and promised I would never have to face life alone.
And now Ruth was telling me Simone had locked my dying mother inside her bedroom.
I couldn't move.
“That's impossible,” I whispered.
Ruth shook her head.
“I wish it were.”
Simone Harris and I had been engaged for almost two years.
She was elegant, intelligent, and admired throughout Atlanta.
She ran a charitable foundation that partnered with several Bennett Grand properties.
My mother had introduced us.
For months, I believed she was the woman I would marry.
Our wedding was scheduled for December.
I looked at Ruth.
“Why would Simone hurt my mother?”
Ruth wiped her tears.
“Because Eleanor discovered something about the foundation.”
I felt sick.
“Money?”
She nodded.
“Your mother found payments going to companies that didn't exist. She started asking questions.”
I looked toward Daniel.
“Was Richard involved?”
Ruth lowered her head.
“Your uncle handled the transfers.”
I sat down on an overturned storage crate.
The woman I loved.
The uncle I trusted.
Both connected to my mother's final days.
I pressed my palms against my face.
For a moment, I was eleven months younger again.
Standing beside a hospital bed.
Staring at my mother's lifeless face.
Begging her to open her eyes.
I remembered Simone standing behind me.
“She's at peace now, baby,” she whispered.
I had believed her.
I had even thanked her.
Now I wanted to scream.
Olivia arrived at the archive with the police officer who had been waiting nearby.
Ruth repeated her account.
She explained that my mother had become distressed after an argument with Simone and Richard.
Later that evening, Eleanor complained of chest pain.
Ruth tried to enter her bedroom, but the door had been locked from the outside.
She heard my mother calling for help.
When Ruth demanded someone unlock it, Simone ordered her to leave.
“She said your mother was having a panic attack,” Ruth whispered.
“I knew that wasn't true.”
Ruth called emergency services from a hallway telephone.
But Richard allegedly took the phone away before she could provide the full address.
Eventually, paramedics arrived.
By then, my mother had collapsed.
I struggled to breathe.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Ruth burst into tears.
“I tried.”
She reached into her uniform pocket.
“They told me you'd never believe a housekeeper over your fiancée.”
I shook my head.
“I would have listened.”
“I know that now.”
Her voice cracked.
“But they showed me pictures of my grandson leaving school.”
My anger turned cold.
“They threatened your family?”
She nodded.
“I was terrified.”
Olivia gently interrupted.
“Ruth, we need to document everything you remember. The authorities can investigate the circumstances and determine what the evidence supports.”
Ruth agreed.
I knew her account was devastating.
But I also knew grief could not replace proof.
If Simone and Richard were responsible, I wanted them exposed in a way they couldn't escape.
Not through rumors.
Not through revenge.
Through facts.
That night, I returned to my private penthouse above the hotel.
I found Simone waiting for me.
She stood near the windows wearing a white silk blouse and tailored black trousers.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“There you are.”
She walked toward me.
“I've been calling you all evening.”
I stared at her.
She stopped.
“Marcus?”
I forced myself to speak calmly.
“Busy day.”
She touched my arm.
“Richard said something happened downstairs with a guest.”
I looked at her hand.
The same hand that had held mine at Mom's funeral.
“It's being handled.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Then she kissed my cheek.
I felt nothing but nausea.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
“No.”
“Let me order something.”
“I need a shower first.”
She studied me.
“Are you okay?”
I looked directly into her eyes.
“Do you ever think about my mother?”
Her smile softened.
“Of course.”
“What do you remember most about her?”
Simone hesitated.
“She was strong. Kind. She loved you more than anything.”
I nodded.
“She did.”
Simone reached for my hand.
“I miss her too.”
I nearly pulled away.
Instead, I asked, “Were you with her the night she died?”
The room became painfully quiet.
For less than a second, something flashed across Simone's face.
Fear.
Then it vanished.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Just thinking about things.”
She smiled gently.
“Marcus, we've talked about that night.”
“Humor me.”
She sighed.
“I stopped by earlier. Your mother wasn't feeling well. I left before dinner.”
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
She tilted her head.
“Baby, you're worrying me.”
I looked at her.
“I think I need some time alone tonight.”
Her face tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
She stepped back.
“Fine.”
Then she smiled again.
“Don't work too hard.”
I watched her leave.
The moment the elevator doors closed, I called Olivia.
“She lied.”
Olivia listened while I repeated the conversation.
“We need corroboration,” she said.
“I know.”
“Don't confront her yet.”
“I won't.”
But I could no longer sleep in the penthouse we had shared.
The next morning, James discovered security footage from the night my mother died had been archived under an unusual maintenance code.
Most of the files were damaged.
But one hallway clip had survived.
I watched it inside my office.
The timestamp showed 8:47 p.m.
My mother's bedroom door was visible.
Simone stood outside it.
Richard was beside her.
They appeared to be arguing.
Then Simone reached toward the door handle.
Richard handed her something small.
A key.
I leaned forward.
Simone inserted it into the lock.
Turned it.
Then stepped away.
My hands began shaking.
Seconds later, Ruth appeared in the hallway.
She tried the door.
She pulled the handle.
She knocked urgently.
Richard approached her.
The recording had no sound.
But I could see Ruth pleading.
I watched Simone fold her arms.
Then the footage abruptly ended.
I couldn't speak.
Olivia stood beside me.
“We'll give this to the investigators.”
I nodded.
Then James entered.
His face looked pale.
“Marcus, there's something else.”
He placed a folder on my desk.
It contained financial records from the foundation.
One of the largest transfers had been approved two days before my mother's death.
The amount was $8.4 million.
The receiving company was registered to Simone Harris.
But that wasn't what made my blood turn cold.
The authorization line contained a digital signature.
My signature.
I stared at the screen.
“I never approved this.”
James nodded.
“I believe you.”
Olivia leaned closer.
“We need to determine how your credentials were used.”
Then my phone rang.
Simone.
I answered without speaking.
“Marcus,” she said sweetly, “we need to talk.”
I stared at the fraudulent signature.
“About what?”
There was a pause.
Then her voice changed.
“About what happens to people who go digging into the past.”
For the first time, she didn't sound like the woman I loved.
May you like
She sounded like a stranger.
And I realized she knew exactly what I had discovered.
