Chapter 6: The Woman Who Kept the Records
The next morning, I stood outside my father's old office with a paper cup of coffee growing cold in my hands.
The building looked smaller than I remembered.
The brick facade needed cleaning, the sign above the entrance had faded, and weeds pushed through cracks in the parking lot. But the blue door was still there, along with the narrow window Daddy used to decorate with Christmas lights every December.
I hadn't been inside since his funeral.
Rachel had offered to come with me, but the message had specifically said to come alone.
I wasn't sure whether that made me brave or foolish.
At 9:02 a.m., the door opened.
A woman in her late fifties stood in the doorway. She wore a gray cardigan, carried a leather folder, and looked at me with eyes that seemed to recognize my father in my face.
“Naomi Carter?”” she asked.
“Yes.””
“My name is Patricia Lewis. I handled your father's bookkeeping for eighteen years.””
I remembered her.
She had brought Daddy's tax documents to our house every spring and always carried peppermints in her purse. At his funeral, she had hugged me and said my father had been the most stubborn honest man she'd ever met.
“Mrs. Lewis,” I said, “did you send me those messages?””
She nodded.
“Come inside.””
The office smelled faintly of paper, dust, and old coffee. A desk stood near the window, and a filing cabinet occupied the corner where Daddy used to keep spare tools.
Patricia led me to a small conference room.
“I wish I had contacted you sooner,” she said.
“Why didn't you?””
She placed her folder on the table.
“Because your father asked me to wait unless something happened that made the records necessary.””
I sat down.
“What kind of thing?””
She looked directly at me.
“Your mother and Marcus.””
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
“You knew about them?””
“I suspected they were involved before your wedding. I confirmed it later.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Your father asked me not to. He believed he could handle the situation without destroying your marriage before it began.””
I let out a bitter breath.
“Everyone seems to have decided that protecting my marriage was more important than telling me the truth.””
Patricia's expression softened.
“Your father made a mistake in that regard. He loved you so much that he thought silence was protection.””
I looked down at my hands.
For the first time since dinner, I felt something other than anger.
Grief.
My father had been gone for nine years, but I was still discovering the choices he had made in an attempt to protect me. Some had helped. Others had left me vulnerable to people who knew exactly how much I trusted them.
“What did you find in the records?”” I asked.
Patricia opened the folder.
Inside were photocopies of bank statements, company ledgers, and a list of transactions spanning several years.
“Your father discovered that Marcus had been using company resources to cover personal expenses,” she explained.
“At first, the amounts were small. A few hundred dollars here, a few thousand there. He claimed they were temporary loans and promised to repay them.””
“Did he?””
“Some. Not all.””
She slid a page toward me.
The entries were organized by date, amount, and recipient.
I recognized Marcus's name on several lines.
Then I saw Denise Carter.
Again and again.
Some payments were labeled consulting fees. Others were marked reimbursements. Several had no explanation at all.
I stared at the figures.
“How much?””
Patricia tapped a calculator and turned the screen toward me.
“Based on the records I could verify, approximately two hundred and ten thousand dollars was transferred to accounts associated with your mother over six years. Some of that may have been legitimate. But I cannot reconcile a substantial portion with the company's expenses.””
My mouth went dry.
“Two hundred and ten thousand?””
She nodded.
“Your father was investigating when he became ill.””
I looked at the records again.
The dates continued beyond his death.
“How could the payments continue after Daddy died?””
“Because the company was being managed by people who had access to the accounts. Your mother handled several administrative matters during the transition. Marcus remained involved as a contractor.””
I leaned back.
“So Mama and Marcus were still taking money from the company after Daddy died?””
“I can't say every transfer was improper without a full audit. But I can tell you that your father left written instructions requiring approval for payments above a certain amount. Several transactions appear to have bypassed that process.””
I rubbed my temples.
“What happened to the business?””
Patricia opened another document.
“Your father had structured the ownership through a holding company. You were named the controlling beneficiary. The day-to-day operations were supposed to be managed by a trustee until you reached an age and level of experience that allowed you to make decisions independently.””
I frowned.
“I'm thirty now.””
“Exactly.””
“Then why was I never contacted?””
Patricia hesitated.
“Because the trustee reported that the business had been liquidated and its remaining assets distributed according to the estate plan.””
“But you're telling me the company was transferred, not simply sold.””
“Yes. Some contracts were sold, but the property remained in a separate entity. That property may still be held for your benefit.””
I stared at her.
The old office.
The company.
The property.
Everything I had believed was gone might still exist.
“Who was the trustee?””
Patricia closed the folder.
“Your mother's attorney at the time.””
I felt a pulse beating at my temple.
“Did he know about the affair?””
“I don't know. But he received correspondence from your father concerning Marcus.””
She pulled out a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front in my father's handwriting.
I stopped breathing.
“This was in the company files,” Patricia said.
“Your father instructed me to give it to you if the estate records ever became relevant to your life.””
I took the envelope with trembling fingers.
For several seconds, I couldn't open it.
I had spent years wishing my father could sit across from me one more time. I had wanted his advice when my marriage hit rough patches, when Marcus and I argued about money, and when I wondered whether I was working too hard to build a family we hadn't yet started.
Now, after all those years, he was speaking to me through a letter he had never expected me to need.
I unfolded the page.
My sweet Naomi,
If you're reading this, then I failed to resolve something I should have handled before I left you.
I need you to understand that money is not the most important thing I am leaving you. It is the ability to make your own decisions without owing anyone your silence.
I have seen people I love make choices that frighten me. I cannot make those choices for them, and I cannot force them to be honest.
But I can leave you the means to stand on your own feet.
If Marcus ever becomes a source of fear or confusion in your life, remember that you do not owe him your future because I once believed in his potential.
And if your mother asks you to protect the family at the expense of the truth, remember that a family worth protecting should never require you to disappear inside it.
I stopped reading.
The paper blurred.
I pressed it against my chest and bowed my head.
Patricia quietly pushed a box of tissues toward me.
I took one and wiped my face.
“I wish he'd told me this when he was alive.””
“So do I,” she said.
I folded the letter carefully.
“What else did he leave?””
Patricia glanced toward the filing cabinet.
“There is one more document you need to see.””
She opened the folder and removed a copy of a property deed.
The address was familiar.
It was the commercial building where my father's company had started.
The deed showed that the property had been transferred into a trust before his death. My name appeared as the beneficiary.
I looked up.
“Does this mean I own the building?””
“Subject to the trust terms and any outstanding obligations, yes. Your father's estate attorney can confirm the current title and arrange a proper accounting.””
“How much is it worth?””
Patricia gave me a cautious look.
“The last appraisal I saw was approximately six hundred thousand dollars. That was several years ago.””
I sat motionless.
Six hundred thousand dollars.
A company.
A property.
Records suggesting that more than two hundred thousand dollars had passed through accounts associated with my mother.
The money wasn't what hurt most.
It was the knowledge that people I loved had been making decisions about my future while keeping me in the dark.
I placed the deed beside the letter.
“Why did you contact me now?””
Patricia's expression changed.
“Because yesterday, someone called asking whether I still had the old records.””
“Who?””
“She didn't give her name, but I recognized her voice.””
My stomach tightened.
“Denise?””
Patricia nodded.
“She wanted to know whether your father's original documents were still here. When I told her I couldn't discuss the files, she asked if I had already spoken to you.””
I stared at her.
“What did you say?””
“That I hadn't.””
Patricia paused.
“But I knew that if your mother was suddenly worried about these records, there was a reason.””
I stood and gathered the copies.
“Thank you.””
“Naomi, there's one thing you should know before you go.””
I stopped.
“Your father didn't leave the business to you simply because he wanted you to have money.””
“What do you mean?””
“He included a clause requiring an independent review of any financial transfers made after his death. If irregularities were found, the trustee was obligated to notify the beneficiary.””
I looked down at the paperwork.
“Then why wasn't I notified?””
Patricia's eyes filled with concern.
“That's what worries me.””
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“Are you saying somebody ignored the clause?””
“I'm saying the records suggest it needs to be investigated.””
My phone vibrated.
An incoming call from Mama.
I watched it ring until it stopped.
A second later, a text appeared.
*Naomi, please come home. Something has happened to Tiana.*
I called immediately.
Mama answered on the first ring.
“What's wrong?””
Her voice was frantic.
“Tiana's at the hospital.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What happened?””
“She started bleeding. Marcus took her in.””
I closed my eyes.
“Is the baby okay?””
“They don't know yet.””
For a moment, all the anger disappeared beneath a familiar fear. Tiana was my sister. Whatever she had done, I didn't want her to suffer.
“I'm coming,” I said.
Then Mama added, almost too quietly to hear, “Naomi, there's something else.””
I gripped the table.
“What?””
“Marcus is there with her.””
“I know. You just told me.””
“No, baby. You don't understand.””
Her breathing became uneven.
“He told the doctor he's the father of both babies, and he wants them to run a test.””
I stared at the papers spread across Patricia's desk.
“Both babies?””
Mama began crying.
“He wants a paternity test for my baby too.””
I felt the room go cold.
“Why would he do that?””
Mama's answer came in a whisper.
“Because Marcus says he isn't sure the baby I'm carrying belongs to him.””
I looked at my father's letter.
Then at the financial records.
Then at the deed bearing my name.
For the first time, I wondered whether Marcus had been lying to everyone, including the two women carrying his children.
And as I hurried toward the door, my phone vibrated again.
May you like
This time, the message came from an unknown number.
*Before you go to the hospital, ask your mother where she was the night your father died.*
