Chapter 6: My Father's Last Letter
Marcus chose a coffee shop three blocks from the restaurant.
I arrived at 10:15 p.m.
He was sitting in the far corner, wearing the same black suit he'd worn to our mother's birthday dinner.
His tie was loose.
An untouched cup of coffee sat in front of him.
For the first time that evening, he looked frightened.
I stopped beside the table.
"Why did you ask me to come alone?""
He looked up.
"Because Mom doesn't know I have this.""
He reached into his jacket and removed a brown envelope.
I didn't sit down.
"What is it?""
"Something I found in her filing cabinet.""
I stared at him.
"Why were you going through her files?""
He rubbed his face.
"Because I wanted to know where the money was.""
I pulled out the chair and sat.
"Which money?""
"The insurance money.""
My throat tightened.
"You knew about it?""
He nodded.
"Not everything. I found out last year when Mom asked me to help organize some old financial documents.""
I stared at him.
"And you said nothing?""
He looked down.
"I thought it had been used for the house.""
"That's what she told you?""
"Yes.""
I folded my arms.
"Marcus, stop speaking in half-truths. What did you find?""
He pushed the envelope toward me.
Inside were photocopies of bank statements, a letter, and several pages from an old legal file.
I picked up the first document.
It was a statement from an account bearing my name.
The date was fourteen months after my father's death.
The balance was $200,000.
I looked at Marcus.
"Is this real?""
He nodded.
"Mom opened separate accounts for all three of us.""
I scanned the page.
There were several withdrawals.
The first was $45,000.
The second was $60,000.
The third was $70,000.
The final balance was almost zero.
I stared at the transactions.
"Where did the money go?""
"That's what I was trying to figure out.""
I picked up another statement.
It showed a transfer to an account belonging to Evelyn Carter.
Then another transfer to a mortgage servicing company.
I felt sick.
"She took it.""
Marcus nodded.
"Not just yours. Mine too.""
I looked at him.
"How much of your share?""
"Almost all of it.""
"And Claire?""
He looked away.
"Same.""
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Three hundred thousand dollars.
Gone.
Money our father had intended to protect us.
I opened the letter.
The handwriting was familiar.
My father's.
My fingers began shaking.
It was dated six weeks before he died.
The first line read:
My children, if you are reading this, I hope you have all grown into people who look after one another.
I swallowed.
The letter continued.
I have made arrangements so that each of you will have a financial foundation when you become adults. I know your mother worries about the future, but I want you to have choices of your own.
I stopped reading.
There was a handwritten note at the bottom.
Never allow anyone to make you feel that love must be earned through sacrifice.
I lowered the paper.
For a moment, I couldn't see clearly.
Marcus watched me.
"There's more.""
I wiped my cheek.
"What?""
He pointed toward the final page.
I picked it up.
It was a letter from an attorney confirming that the insurance proceeds had been deposited into separate custodial accounts.
Each account was to be released to the named beneficiary upon reaching adulthood.
But there was another paragraph.
It explained that any withdrawals before that date required documented authorization and had to be made for the direct benefit of the beneficiary.
I looked at Marcus.
"How old were we when the money was withdrawn?""
"Claire was nineteen. I was twenty-three. You were twenty-four.""
I stared at him.
"So she couldn't have used our accounts without authorization.""
He nodded.
"That's what I thought.""
I looked at the statements again.
There was a signature beside each withdrawal.
My name.
Marcus's name.
Claire's name.
But I had never signed any of them.
"Did you sign yours?""
He shook his head.
"No.""
I looked at him.
"Then why didn't you report it?""
He stared at his coffee.
"Because Mom told me the money had gone toward paying off the house. She said we'd eventually inherit it.""
"And you believed her?""
"I wanted to.""
I leaned back.
"Marcus, you watched her humiliate me tonight. You knew she had been using my money for years.""
He looked up.
"I know.""
"Why?""
His eyes became wet.
"Because I was afraid.""
"Of what?""
"Of losing everything.""
I stared at him.
He continued.
"After Dad died, Mom kept telling me I had to become the man of the family. She said I needed to protect her and Claire. I was twenty-three, Nia. I didn't know what I was doing.""
I shook my head.
"Neither did I. But I worked.""
He nodded.
"I know.""
"Then why did you let her convince you that I owed everyone something?""
Marcus rubbed his eyes.
"Because it was easier to let you handle everything than to admit I couldn't.""
His honesty didn't erase what he'd done.
But it explained something.
My mother hadn't just made me the family's financial support.
She had made Marcus dependent on her approval.
And Claire had learned that being the favorite meant never having to question where the money came from.
I looked down at the envelope.
"Why are you giving me this now?""
Marcus took a long breath.
"Because I found another document.""
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet.
It was a bank transaction record.
The date was recent.
Three days earlier.
The amount was $200,000.
The recipient was MC Holdings.
I looked at him.
"What is this?""
"Mom transferred money into the company before the loan application.""
I frowned.
"Whose money?""
He looked directly at me.
"Your father's insurance money.""
I felt my stomach turn.
"How do you know?""
"Because I found the original account number in the old records. The transfer came from an account that had been dormant for years.""
I looked at the transaction again.
The reference number matched the old account.
"How could she still access it?""
Marcus swallowed.
"She was listed as the original custodian.""
"But I was an adult.""
"I know.""
I stared at him.
"Did you help her transfer it?""
He shook his head.
"No. I found out afterward.""
I studied his face.
"Marcus, I need the truth. All of it.""
He nodded.
Then he reached into the envelope and removed another piece of paper.
This one was a printout of an email.
The sender was David Whitaker.
The recipient was Evelyn Carter.
The subject line read:
*FINAL STRUCTURE — CARTER FAMILY FUNDING.*
I began reading.
The email described a plan involving the old insurance accounts, the family residence, and the financing application submitted through MC Holdings.
But one sentence stood out.
Once the commercial facility closes, the family can repay the outstanding obligations and proceed with the property transfer.
I read it again.
Then I noticed the date.
The email had been sent before the loan application.
Before the birthday dinner.
Before my mother pulled my chair away.
I looked at Marcus.
"What's the outstanding obligation?""
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered:
"Mom owes someone money.""
"Who?""
"An investor.""
"How much?""
He looked down.
"Nearly seven hundred thousand dollars.""
I stared at him.
"Why?""
"She invested in a property development scheme two years ago. It failed. She borrowed money to cover the losses.""
I closed my eyes.
Seven hundred thousand dollars.
That explained the urgency.
The auction.
The loan.
The attempt to use my financial standing.
My mother wasn't trying to build a future for the family.
She was trying to cover a debt.
"Why didn't she tell us?""
Marcus gave a bitter laugh.
"Because she told everyone she was wealthy.""
I looked at him.
"What?""
He nodded.
"She told her friends she owned several investment properties. She told Claire she had money set aside for the boutique. She told everyone she was financially secure.""
I stared at the email.
My mother had been living a lie.
And she'd used my success to keep it alive.
Then Marcus said something that made me look up sharply.
"There's one more thing.""
"What?""
He leaned forward.
"Mom didn't choose the Grand Wellington because it was her favorite restaurant.""
I frowned.
"Then why?""
"Because the investor she owes was supposed to attend tonight.""
My stomach tightened.
"Who?""
Marcus looked toward the window.
"David Whitaker wasn't the only person involved.""
He pulled out his phone and showed me a photograph.
It was taken inside the restaurant earlier that evening.
My mother was standing beside a tall man in a navy suit.
I recognized him.
I'd seen him at business events.
He was the owner of a regional investment company.
And he was also one of the biggest clients of my consulting firm.
His name was Richard Lawson.
I stared at the photograph.
"Why was he meeting with Mom?""
Marcus lowered his voice.
"Because she promised him something.""
"What?""
He looked at me.
"Your company.""
I felt every muscle in my body tighten.
"What did you just say?""
Marcus swallowed.
"She told him you were going to sell your business interests to MC Holdings. She said the agreement was already signed.""
I stared at him.
My company.
The business I'd built from nothing.
The people who depended on me.
The contracts I'd spent six years earning.
My mother had promised it to someone else.
I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped across the floor.
Marcus grabbed my wrist.
"Wait.""
I looked down.
"What?""
He turned his phone toward me again.
There was a message from our mother.
It had arrived less than a minute earlier.
*MARCUS, BRING NIA BACK TO THE RESTAURANT. RICHARD IS READY TO SIGN.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*IF SHE DOESN'T AGREE, TELL HER WHAT HAPPENED TO HER FATHER'S HOUSE.*
I looked at Marcus.
"What does that mean?""
His face had gone pale.
He opened the final photograph in his phone.
It showed an old legal document.
A property deed.
My father's name appeared at the top.
But beneath it was a transfer record dated only months before his death.
And the new owner wasn't my mother.
It was a company I had never heard of.
Marcus whispered:
May you like
"Nia, I think Mom has been hiding who actually owns our childhood home.""
And for the first time that night, I realized the house might never have belonged to her at all.
