Chapter 3
I stared at my father.
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
"Daddy, what are you talking about?"
He sat beside me.
His name was Elijah Brooks.
To the business world, he was the founder of Brooks Capital Holdings.
To me, he was simply Dad.
The man who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who came to every school performance.
The man who cried when I told him I was pregnant.
He had always been honest with me.
At least, I thought he had.
I looked into his eyes.
"Are you saying Marcus married me for money?"
Dad took a slow breath.
"I'm saying there are things about Diane's business dealings that Marcus may not have told you."
My stomach tightened.
"Like what?"
He glanced toward Samuel.
Then opened the folder.
"Fifteen years ago, Diane's husband was involved in a failed hotel investment."
I frowned.
"Marcus's father?"
Dad nodded.
"His name was Raymond Whitmore."
I remembered Raymond vaguely.
He had died before Marcus and I met.
Diane rarely spoke about him.
When she did, she described him as a brilliant businessman who had been betrayed by greedy partners.
Dad continued.
"Raymond borrowed heavily against several properties. When the market collapsed, he couldn't repay the loans."
I listened.
"One of those properties was the Windsor Grand."
My heart pounded.
"What happened?"
"I purchased the debt and helped restructure the company."
I stared at him.
"So you saved the hotel?"
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
I looked toward the door.
Diane had spent years telling people her family built the hotel's success.
She spoke about the property as though it belonged to her.
She hosted events there.
She demanded special treatment.
She acted like every employee was beneath her.
But according to Dad, the hotel had survived because of him.
"Does Marcus know?"
Dad hesitated.
"I don't know how much Diane told him."
I swallowed.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He looked sad.
"Because when you fell in love with Marcus, I didn't want you to think I was judging him for his family's mistakes."
I shook my head.
"But this isn't just about money."
"I know."
He took my hand.
"That's why I'm telling you now."
Samuel opened another document.
It showed the current ownership structure of the hotel.
I recognized my father's company.
Then another name caught my attention.
Grace Heritage Trust.
I frowned.
"What's that?"
Dad looked at me.
"A family trust."
My stomach tightened.
"Whose?"
He smiled sadly.
"Yours."
I stared.
"What?"
He nodded.
"Years ago, I established a trust for you. After Grace was born, we began updating the beneficiary arrangements."
My eyes filled.
"Daddy..."
He squeezed my hand.
"I wanted to make sure you and your daughter always had security."
I looked down at my sleeping baby.
Then back at him.
"But why would Diane care?"
Dad's expression darkened.
"Because she believes Marcus can gain control over assets connected to your trust."
I felt sick.
"Through our marriage?"
"Possibly through documents she has been encouraging you to sign."
My heart stopped.
I remembered the paperwork.
Three weeks before Grace was born, Diane had brought a folder to our house.
She said it contained routine family estate documents.
She wanted me to sign them before the baby arrived.
I told her I was exhausted.
She became irritated.
Marcus asked me to stop arguing.
Eventually, I signed several pages.
I hadn't read every line.
I trusted my husband.
Now my hands began trembling.
"Dad..."
He noticed immediately.
"What?"
I swallowed.
"I signed something."
His face changed.
"When?"
"Three weeks ago."
"What did you sign?"
"I don't know."
The words tasted terrible.
I had always considered myself careful.
I had a college education.
I managed my own accounts.
I knew better than to sign financial documents without reading them.
But I had been heavily pregnant.
Exhausted.
And desperate to keep peace in my marriage.
Diane told me the papers were harmless.
Marcus agreed.
So I signed.
Dad didn't scold me.
He simply took my hand.
"Do you have copies?"
I shook my head.
"Diane said she'd keep them safe."
Samuel looked worried.
Dad turned toward him.
"Contact Olivia."
I frowned.
"Olivia?"
"Olivia Grant. Our family attorney."
I swallowed.
"Daddy, what have I done?"
He looked directly at me.
"You trusted people who should have protected you."
Tears filled my eyes.
He continued.
"That doesn't make their dishonesty your responsibility."
I looked down at Grace.
My daughter stirred.
I adjusted her blanket and held her closer.
For the first time, I wondered whether Diane's interest in my baby had anything to do with love.
She had insisted on being present for every medical appointment.
She wanted copies of Grace's birth certificate.
She asked questions about the baby's legal name.
She repeatedly pressured me to add the Whitmore family name to every document.
At the time, I thought she was simply proud.
Now I wasn't sure.
My phone vibrated.
Marcus.
Again.
This time, the message read:
Mom says your father is trying to steal our hotel. Come downstairs and tell him to stop.
I stared at the screen.
Then showed Dad.
He read it.
His expression became cold.
"Interesting."
I frowned.
"What?"
"Marcus thinks I want to steal something I already legally control."
Samuel looked at the document.
Then nodded.
Dad stood.
"Nia, you and Grace are staying in this suite until we arrange somewhere safe."
I shook my head.
"I don't want to hide."
He looked at me.
"You're not hiding."
His voice softened.
"You're protecting yourself while we establish the facts."
I nodded.
Then asked,
"What about Marcus?"
Dad hesitated.
"That's your decision."
I looked down.
I still loved my husband.
That was the worst part.
I loved the man who held me during labor.
The man who painted Grace's nursery.
The man who whispered that I was beautiful when I cried over my swollen feet.
But I couldn't reconcile that man with the one who stood beside Diane while she slapped me.
I didn't know which version was real.
Dad seemed to understand.
"You don't have to decide your entire future today."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
A knock interrupted us.
Samuel opened the door.
A hotel employee stood outside.
"Mr. Brooks, Mrs. Whitmore is demanding to speak with the property owner."
Dad smiled faintly.
"Then she can speak with me."
My stomach dropped.
"Daddy..."
He turned.
"I won't raise my voice."
I believed him.
That was what frightened me.
My father rarely shouted.
He didn't need to.
He had spent thirty years building businesses by staying calm when others lost control.
Samuel led us toward a private meeting room near the ballroom.
I carried Grace securely against my chest.
Dad walked beside me.
When we entered, Diane was standing near a large table.
Marcus stood behind her.
My husband's face changed when he saw me.
"Nia."
I looked at him.
He took a step forward.
"Is Grace okay?"
I nodded.
"She's fine."
Relief crossed his face.
Then Diane spoke.
"Well, look who finally decided to come back."
Dad stopped.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
"Hello, Diane."
She stiffened.
"Elijah."
He nodded.
"I understand you wanted to speak with the owner."
Diane lifted her chin.
"Yes."
Dad placed the ownership documents on the table.
"Then speak."
She glanced down.
Her expression changed.
"What is this?"
Dad answered calmly.
"The current ownership structure of the Windsor Grand."
Diane stared at the documents.
Then looked at Marcus.
My husband looked confused.
"Mom?"
Diane ignored him.
She pointed at Dad.
"You have no right to interfere in my family's business."
Dad's expression remained calm.
"I have every right to protect my daughter."
Diane laughed.
"Your daughter is married to my son."
I felt my chest tighten.
Dad answered,
"Marriage doesn't make Nia your property."
Diane's smile vanished.
Marcus looked at the floor.
I wanted to scream at him.
Speak.
Please.
Just once.
But he remained silent.
Then Dad placed another document on the table.
It was a copy of a legal filing.
I leaned closer.
My stomach dropped.
The document contained my signature.
The same signature I had placed on Diane's paperwork three weeks earlier.
But the title at the top was something I had never seen.
LIMITED POWER OF ATTORNEY AND TRUST MANAGEMENT AUTHORIZATION.
I stared at it.
My hands began shaking.
"Dad..."
He looked at me gently.
"Did you understand what you were signing?"
I shook my head.
"No."
Diane suddenly spoke.
"That document is perfectly legal."
Dad turned toward her.
"Then you won't mind explaining why it was submitted without Nia receiving a complete copy."
Diane's expression hardened.
"She signed it."
I felt tears rise.
"Because you told me it was routine paperwork."
Diane shrugged.
"You should have read it."
The words struck me.
Not because they were entirely wrong.
But because of how little she cared that she had deceived me.
Marcus finally spoke.
"Mom, what did you have her sign?"
Diane turned sharply.
"Stay out of it."
He flinched.
Then looked at me.
For the first time that day, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Dad opened another page.
"This authorization attempted to give Diane access to certain trust-related decisions."
I stared.
"What decisions?"
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Decisions involving assets intended for you and Grace."
My stomach turned.
Diane stepped forward.
"That is a gross misrepresentation."
Dad looked at her.
"Then explain the attached banking instructions."
Silence.
Marcus stared at his mother.
"What banking instructions?"
Dad placed one final page on the table.
A transfer request.
I looked at the amount.
My breath stopped.
Two million four hundred thousand dollars.
The destination account belonged to a company I had never heard of.
Whitmore Family Advisory Group.
I looked at Marcus.
"Did you know about this?"
He stared at the document.
Then at his mother.
"Mom?"
Diane's face had gone pale.
Dad's voice became quiet.
"Nia, the bank flagged this transfer before the funds moved."
I felt dizzy.
Then he added,
"And there's something else."
I looked up.
"What?"
He turned the page.
The account had not been opened in Marcus's name.
It had been opened in Grace's.
May you like
My eleven-day-old daughter.
And Diane had listed herself as the person authorized to control it.
