Chapter 3
I stared at the electronic signature.
It looked like mine.
The same flowing N.
The same sharp ending.
Even the little mark I made beneath my last name.
For a moment, I felt sick.
“Dad, I didn't sign this.”
My father nodded.
“I believe you.”
I looked at the loan application.
The amount was four million eight hundred thousand dollars.
Almost five million.
My name appeared beside Marcus's.
Below it were references to assets connected to Bennett Development Group.
My stomach tightened.
“How could they use my company's name?”
Arthur leaned forward.
“That's what we need to establish.”
I shook my head.
“I don't own Bennett Development.”
“No.”
“But you do own Nia Bennett Interiors.”
I stared at him.
My design company.
The business I'd built from a spare bedroom after college.
The business I was proud of because it belonged to me.
My father continued.
“The documents appear to use your business assets as part of a proposed financial structure.”
I felt cold.
“My employees…”
I stopped.
Twelve people depended on my company.
Designers.
Project managers.
Office staff.
People with mortgages and children.
The thought of someone putting their jobs at risk made me furious.
I looked at Arthur.
“We need a lawyer.”
He nodded.
“I've already contacted Camille.”
I frowned.
“Camille?”
My best friend.
Camille Price.
She'd been a corporate attorney before opening her own practice.
She was also supposed to be my maid of honor.
Arthur looked at me.
“She called after you left the mansion.”
My chest tightened.
“Is she okay?”
“She said she has information.”
I stared at him.
“What information?”
Before he could answer, the study door opened.
Camille stepped inside.
Her dark-blue bridesmaid dress was still visible beneath a long coat.
Her makeup had been washed away by tears.
The moment she saw me, her face crumpled.
“Nia!”
She crossed the room and hugged me.
I held her tightly.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “I'm so sorry.”
I pulled back.
“What happened after we left?”
Camille looked toward my father.
Then back at me.
“Diane tried to tell everyone you abandoned Marcus because his family wasn't rich enough.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Camille nodded.
“She said you humiliated them over money.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did anyone believe her?”
“Some people.”
She looked angry.
“But others saw what happened outside.”
I swallowed.
“The guests?”
“Yes.”
She continued.
“Several people recorded parts of the confrontation.”
I looked down.
Camille took my hand.
“Nia, you weren't alone. People saw Diane throw you out.”
My eyes filled.
For the first time, I felt a tiny bit less ashamed.
Then Camille's expression changed.
“There's something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Marcus was arguing with a man after you left.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“I didn't recognize him.”
She opened her phone.
Then showed me a photograph.
A Black man in his forties stood beside Marcus near the ballroom entrance.
He wore a dark-gray suit.
His expression was furious.
I stared at the picture.
“Who is he?”
My father leaned closer.
Then his face changed.
“Gregory Sloan.”
I turned.
“You know him?”
Arthur nodded.
“He's a private development broker.”
Camille looked concerned.
My father continued.
“He approached Bennett Development about a distressed commercial project six months ago.”
I frowned.
“What project?”
“A luxury hotel redevelopment.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“Downtown Atlanta.”
My father sighed.
“Our investment team reviewed it and declined.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
“Financial inconsistencies.”
My stomach tightened.
Arthur continued.
“The projected returns were unrealistic, and the ownership structure was unclear.”
Camille looked at the photograph again.
“So why was he at the wedding?”
I stared at the screen.
Then whispered, “Because Marcus invited him.”
My father nodded slowly.
I remembered seeing Gregory's name on the guest list.
Marcus called him an old business friend.
He said Gregory had helped him when he was starting his real-estate consulting firm.
I didn't question it.
Why would I?
I trusted the man I was marrying.
Camille sat beside me.
“Nia, there's something you should know.”
I looked at her.
“Tell me.”
She hesitated.
“I overheard Diane talking to Gregory before the ceremony.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did she say?”
Camille swallowed.
“She asked whether everything was ready for your signature.”
I froze.
My father leaned forward.
Camille continued.
“Gregory told her the timing was perfect.”
My chest tightened.
“What timing?”
She looked down.
“The wedding.”
I stared at her.
Then she whispered, “He said once you were legally married, you'd have fewer reasons to question where the money went.”
My stomach dropped.
I stood so quickly that pain shot through my knees.
Camille caught my arm.
“Nia!”
I sat back down.
My breathing became shallow.
They'd planned it.
The documents.
The pressure.
The timing.
My wedding wasn't just a celebration.
It had become an opportunity to secure my signature.
I looked toward my father.
“Did Marcus arrange all of this?”
Arthur shook his head.
“We don't know exactly who did what yet.”
I wiped my face.
“But he knew the documents existed.”
“Yes.”
“And he wanted me to sign.”
“Yes.”
My hands began shaking.
Camille squeezed my fingers.
“We'll establish the facts.”
I looked at her.
“Can you represent me?”
She nodded.
“On the personal and business matters where appropriate. I'll also bring in independent specialists for anything outside my practice.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
We spent the next hour reviewing the documents.
The application referenced a proposed hotel project through Holloway Heritage Holdings.
Marcus held an ownership interest.
Diane was listed as an adviser.
Gregory Sloan appeared as the transaction broker.
And I was identified as a financial backer.
But I had never agreed to invest.
I had never approved the guarantee.
And I had never authorized anyone to sign on my behalf.
Camille began creating a record.
She asked me to preserve every message from Marcus.
Every email.
Every attachment.
She explained that we needed to determine whether the electronic signature was genuine, copied, or applied without authorization.
I nodded.
Then I remembered something.
“Camille, Marcus borrowed my laptop last week.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“He said his computer was updating.”
My father went still.
I continued.
“He used mine for almost two hours.”
Camille asked, “Did he have access to your stored documents?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
My company's financial files.
My personal identification documents.
Even scans of contracts carrying my signature.
All stored behind passwords Marcus knew.
I felt sick.
Camille took a breath.
“We need to preserve the laptop and examine the access history.”
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
Another message from Marcus.
Nia, stop involving lawyers. You're making this worse.
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
Gregory says the lender needs confirmation by nine tomorrow morning.
My chest tightened.
Then a third.
If you really loved me, you wouldn't let your father destroy my future.
I closed my eyes.
For three years, Marcus told me love meant trust.
Now he was using love to demand financial obedience.
I looked at Camille.
“What do I do?”
She took my hand.
“Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we protect your interests.”
I nodded.
But then my father received a call.
He listened quietly.
His expression changed.
“Are you certain?”
My stomach tightened.
He stood.
“I understand.”
Then he ended the call.
“Dad?”
He looked at me.
“The lender has suspended the proposed transaction pending verification.”
Relief washed through me.
But his face remained serious.
I frowned.
“What else?”
Arthur took a slow breath.
“Someone submitted another authorization this evening.”
I froze.
“Who?”
He looked at Camille.
Then back at me.
“It was submitted after you left the wedding.”
My heart pounded.
“What authorization?”
My father hesitated.
Then answered.
“A revised guarantee bearing your signature.”
I stared at him.
May you like
I had been crying in his car when that document was submitted.
And somewhere across Atlanta, someone was still signing my name.
