Chapter 7
I arrived at Angela's office before she opened.
My hands were trembling.
All I could think about was Dad's signature.
The promissory note claimed he'd borrowed money from Gerald five years earlier.
But my father had been dead for nine years.
The date alone made the document impossible as written.
Angela placed a copy on the table.
I stared at it.
The signature looked like Dad's handwriting.
I recognized the long curve of the R.
The sharp angle of the C.
But something was wrong.
The document was dated years after his death.
I looked at Angela.
"How could anyone think this would work?"
She sighed.
"Sometimes documents are assembled carelessly. Sometimes dates are altered. Sometimes signatures are copied. We need to establish what happened."
I nodded.
She continued.
"We've notified Gerald's attorney of the discrepancy and requested the original records."
I stared at the page.
"Could he claim it was a mistake?"
"He can provide an explanation. We should evaluate it against the evidence."
I took a breath.
For the first time, I realized the case might involve more than a family trust dispute.
The questionable document could warrant investigation by appropriate authorities.
Angela agreed.
She had already begun discussing the available reporting options.
Then she handed me another file.
It contained my father's death certificate.
The dates were undeniable.
I looked at his name.
Robert James Carter.
My throat tightened.
I remembered the day he died.
He had suffered a sudden heart attack while working on the Auburn Avenue building.
I was twenty-three.
Marcus was twenty-seven.
Claire was twenty-two.
Mom called us to the hospital.
When we arrived, Dad was already gone.
For months, I barely functioned.
I helped arrange the funeral.
Comforted Claire.
Handled paperwork whenever Mom asked.
I never imagined that years later I'd be examining documents bearing Dad's signature.
Documents connected to money he wanted us to have.
I wiped my eyes.
Angela waited quietly.
Then she asked, "Are you ready to continue?"
I nodded.
We reviewed the trust records.
The trustee had been required to keep accurate accounts.
Certain transactions needed documentation and appropriate authorization.
But the available statements were incomplete.
Several transfers lacked supporting invoices.
Others appeared to involve related companies.
Angela explained that we'd need a qualified forensic accountant to reconcile the records.
I agreed.
The following week, an accountant named Daniel Foster began reviewing the trust.
He examined rental income.
Property expenses.
Bank transfers.
Company ownership records.
And the proposed financing documents.
For several days, I heard nothing.
Then he requested a meeting.
I arrived with Angela.
Daniel looked serious.
"The trust received significant rental income over the years."
I nodded.
"We knew that."
"Yes. But several withdrawals require explanation."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
He gave me a preliminary estimate.
More than three hundred thousand dollars in transactions lacked clear supporting documentation.
I stared at him.
"Three hundred thousand?"
"That's the amount requiring further review, not a final finding of misuse."
I nodded slowly.
Still, the number frightened me.
Daniel continued.
"Some payments went to entities associated with Gerald Price."
My jaw tightened.
"How much?"
He showed us the records.
One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
The disputed transfer.
Additional payments totaling tens of thousands.
And smaller recurring charges described as advisory fees.
I stared at the spreadsheet.
For years, Gerald had apparently received money from entities connected to the trust.
Now he was using a questionable loan document to justify at least one large transfer.
I felt sick.
Angela asked Daniel to prepare a formal report.
He agreed.
Then he showed us something else.
A message attached to one transaction.
It referred to a deadline connected to the Carter Legacy Initiative.
I stared at it.
The restaurant dinner.
The business announcement.
The investor presentation.
All of it appeared connected to an urgent financing effort.
Daniel explained that the records suggested the new initiative was intended to raise substantial capital.
But the source and use of the funds needed clarification.
I left the meeting exhausted.
When I returned home, Mom was waiting outside.
She stood beside my driveway wearing a beige coat.
For a moment, I considered driving past.
Then I stopped.
I stepped out of the car.
"Mom."
She looked tired.
Older than I'd ever seen her.
"Nia, please."
I folded my arms.
"What do you want?"
"To talk."
I stared at her.
"Then talk."
She glanced toward the house.
"Can we go inside?"
"No."
Her face tightened.
"You're really going to treat me like a stranger?"
I felt anger rise.
"You told me to eat in the bathroom in front of seventy people."
She looked away.
"That was a mistake."
I shook my head.
"No. A mistake is forgetting someone's birthday. You deliberately humiliated me."
Her eyes filled.
"I was angry."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
Then she whispered, "Because you wouldn't help me."
I stared at her.
"Help you with what?"
"The project."
I took a breath.
"Mom, you asked me to invest money without providing financial statements."
"I needed you to trust me."
"You wanted me to hand over half a million dollars."
She began crying.
"I was trying to protect the family."
I felt my chest tighten.
"By hiding Dad's property?"
She froze.
Then she looked at me.
"Who told you about that?"
I almost laughed.
"The records."
Her face went pale.
I continued.
"Why did you tell us the building was sold?"
She looked down.
"Because I thought it would be easier."
"Easier for whom?"
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Mom, that property belonged to a trust Dad established for us."
Her eyes filled.
"I managed it."
"Then why didn't you provide an accounting?"
She covered her face.
"I made mistakes."
I took a breath.
"What mistakes?"
She began sobbing.
"I trusted Gerald."
I stared at her.
"What did he do?"
"He told me the building could support bigger investments. He said we could multiply the money."
My stomach tightened.
"And?"
"I agreed to transfer funds into several projects."
"Without telling us?"
She nodded.
I closed my eyes.
"Mom."
She reached for me.
I stepped back.
She froze.
I continued.
"Did you know about the promissory note with Dad's signature?"
Her face changed.
"What note?"
I described it.
She stared at me.
Then she whispered, "Gerald told me that document was from your father's old records."
My stomach turned.
"Mom, it was dated after Dad died."
Her face went completely pale.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she shook her head.
"No."
I watched her.
She looked genuinely shocked.
But I couldn't know whether she was telling the truth.
I took a breath.
"Mom, you need to tell Angela everything."
She began crying harder.
"I can't."
"Why?"
She looked toward the street.
Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Because Gerald says if I expose him, he'll make sure all three of you lose everything Dad left."
I stared at her.
For the first time, my mother looked less like the woman controlling our family.
And more like someone who had lost control of a scheme she helped create.
But whatever Gerald had threatened, one truth remained.
She had lied to us.
She had hidden the trust.
May you like
And she had tried to use my company without permission.
Now she would have to decide whether protecting Gerald mattered more than telling her children the truth.
