Chapter 5: The Birthday Dinner Was Only the Beginning
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Rebecca was the first to break the silence.
"What did Evelyn Carter ask for?""
Samuel looked at his notes.
"She requested confirmation of the trust's current balance and asked whether a beneficiary change could still be processed.""
"On whose authority?"" Rebecca asked.
"She claimed to be acting with Nia's consent.""
I shook my head.
"Again?""
Samuel nodded.
"She also stated that you were experiencing financial difficulties and had authorized her to manage your inheritance.""
I almost laughed.
Financial difficulties.
The woman who had just spent an evening wearing jewelry I had purchased was telling strangers that I couldn't manage my own money.
Rebecca leaned forward.
"Did you provide any information?""
"No. I explained that Mrs. Carter was not authorized to access the account.""
"Good.""
Samuel looked at me.
"Miss Carter, I need to ask you something.""
"Yes?""
"Has your mother ever asked you to sign documents without explaining their contents?""
I thought about the past.
The years when she would bring me papers and say they were routine family forms.
The times she asked me to sign birthday cards, insurance documents, and financial paperwork.
Then I remembered something.
"Last year, she asked me to sign a document for a family property.""
"What property?"" Rebecca asked.
"My grandmother's old house.""
"Did you sign it?""
"I don't think so.""
"Think carefully.""
I closed my eyes.
I remembered standing in my mother's kitchen.
She had placed a thick envelope beside my coffee.
"Just sign the last page, Nia. It's something for the family.""
I had been late for a meeting.
I told her I would read it later.
She became irritated.
Then Claire called, and the conversation changed.
I never signed it.
At least, I didn't think I had.
"I refused to sign it," I said.
Rebecca nodded.
"That's important.""
Samuel opened another folder.
"There's something you should know about the trust.""
He pulled out a letter written by my father.
The handwriting was familiar.
I recognized the way he formed his capital R and the small underline he always added beneath his signature.
Samuel placed it in front of me.
"Your father left this with instructions that it be given to you personally.""
My fingers trembled as I unfolded it.
Nia,
If you're reading this, I hope you're old enough to understand why I made certain decisions.
I know your mother and I have disagreed about money. I also know she believes that everything earned by one member of a family belongs to everyone.
I don't share that belief.
You have a generous heart, my little architect. Sometimes, I worry that people will mistake your kindness for permission.
I stopped reading.
My eyes were filling.
Rebecca quietly pushed a tissue box toward me.
I continued.
I want you to build a life that belongs to you. I want you to make mistakes, succeed, fail, start again, and never feel that you owe someone your future simply because they share your last name.
The trust is yours. Protect it.
And if anyone tells you that loving your family means giving them everything, remember that love should never require you to disappear.
Love, Dad.
I lowered the letter.
For the first time in eleven years, I felt as though my father had spoken directly to me.
Rebecca waited until I had finished composing myself.
Then she said, "We need to establish whether any of these documents were used elsewhere.""
Samuel agreed.
He promised to send the trust institution's correspondence and original applications to Rebecca.
We left his office just after noon.
On the drive back, Rebecca spoke.
"Don't transfer any money. Don't respond to requests from your family. And don't sign anything they send you.""
"I understand.""
"Also, I recommend that you separate every business account that might have been exposed.""
I nodded.
By 2:00 p.m., my company's bank had been notified.
By 3:15 p.m., our accountant had frozen pending authorization requests.
By 4:00 p.m., Rebecca had contacted the restaurant about preserving the original documents and security footage.
I thought that would be enough for one day.
I was wrong.
At 5:30 p.m., my mother called.
I let it ring.
Then she called again.
And again.
Finally, a message appeared.
You need to call me immediately. This has gone too far.
I didn't respond.
A second message arrived.
Claire is very upset. Marcus says you're threatening legal action against your own family.
Then another.
Your father would be ashamed of how selfish you've become.
That one hurt.
Not because I believed it.
Because she knew exactly which words would hurt most.
I placed the phone face down.
An hour later, someone rang my doorbell.
I checked the camera.
My mother.
She stood outside wearing a cream coat and carrying a large handbag.
I didn't open the door.
She pressed the bell again.
"Nia!""
I remained silent.
"Don't make me stand out here like a stranger!""
I opened the intercom.
"What do you want?""
"We need to talk.""
"About what?""
"About your behavior.""
I almost smiled.
"Which part?""
"Don't be disrespectful.""
"Mom, you came to my apartment. What do you want?""
She looked toward the camera.
"Claire made a mistake with the restaurant paperwork.""
"Which mistake?""
"She thought you had authorized her.""
"I didn't.""
"Well, she misunderstood.""
"Did she misunderstand my signature, too?""
My mother became quiet.
Then she said, "You don't need to turn this into a legal matter.""
I leaned against the wall.
"Then tell Claire to explain why she submitted a forged authorization.""
"Don't use that word.""
"What word should I use?""
"She was trying to help.""
"Help herself to my company?""
My mother's expression hardened.
"You have more than enough. Marcus is struggling. Claire has expenses. You're the only one who can help them.""
I stared at the screen.
There it was.
The real conversation.
Not an apology.
Not an explanation.
A demand.
"Mom, why did you try to access Dad's trust?""
Her face changed.
"What?""
"The trust. The one Dad established for me.""
She looked away.
"Where did you hear about that?""
"That's not an answer.""
Her jaw tightened.
"Your father made arrangements that he didn't fully understand.""
"He left me $650,000.""
My mother looked genuinely startled.
Then she recovered.
"That money belongs to the family.""
"No. It belongs to me.""
She took a step toward the camera.
"After everything I've done for you?""
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
The sentence she had used my entire life.
"Mom, I paid for your birthday dinner.""
"And?""
"I paid for the transportation, the decorations, the musicians, the flowers, and the cake.""
"Nobody forced you.""
I laughed softly.
"No. Nobody forced me.""
"Then stop acting like a victim.""
I looked at the woman standing outside my home.
For years, I had imagined that if I became successful enough, she would finally treat me differently.
If I bought the right gifts.
If I paid the right bills.
If I organized the perfect celebration.
If I never complained.
But the goalpost kept moving.
And now I understood why.
There was no finish line.
"Mom, I want you to leave.""
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're making a terrible mistake.""
"Goodbye.""
I disconnected the intercom.
She stood there for another minute.
Then she walked away.
I thought that was the end of it.
At 8:12 p.m., my office manager, Tasha, called.
"Nia, I need to tell you something.""
"What happened?""
"Someone came to the office this afternoon.""
"Who?""
"Claire.""
I sat up.
"What did she want?""
"She asked for access to the company records.""
"Did you give it to her?""
"Of course not. She's not an employee.""
"What did she say?""
Tasha hesitated.
"She said she was becoming a company director and that you had already approved the change.""
My stomach tightened.
"Did she show you anything?""
"Yes.""
"What?""
"A document with your signature.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"Did you keep a copy?""
"Yes. I scanned it before she left.""
"Send it to me.""
A few seconds later, the file arrived.
I opened it.
It was a corporate resolution.
The document claimed that I had resigned as sole managing director and appointed Marcus and Claire as joint directors.
It was dated three weeks earlier.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Another forgery.
But there was something else.
A registration reference number.
I zoomed in.
The document had already been submitted to the state business filing office.
I immediately called Rebecca.
She answered.
"What's happened?""
I explained.
She asked me to forward the document.
Thirty seconds later, she called back.
"Nia, this is serious.""
"I know.""
"The filing appears to have been submitted. We need to check its current status immediately.""
"Can they take over my company?""
"Not simply because someone submits a document. But we need to act quickly.""
I stared at the screen.
Then Tasha sent another message.
There's one more thing.
I opened it.
It was a photograph of a man standing outside my office.
He was holding a large envelope.
Beneath the photograph, Tasha had written:
He said he's delivering documents on behalf of your mother. He claims your family is preparing to take control of the company.
I felt my heart begin to pound.
Then Rebecca sent me a message.
Nia, don't go anywhere alone tonight. I've just discovered something about the corporate filing.
I called her.
"What?""
Her voice was unusually tense.
"The document doesn't just appoint Marcus and Claire.""
"What else?""
"It lists a third person as the new controlling shareholder.""
I stared at the photograph.
"Who?""
Rebecca paused.
Then she said a name I hadn't heard in years.
"Your mother's attorney.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Because I suddenly remembered something my father had told me shortly before he died.
He had warned me about one particular man.
A man who had once tried to take control of his business.
And that man's name was Daniel Price.
The same notary whose name appeared on my forged trust documents.
But the next morning, Rebecca would discover that Daniel Price wasn't merely helping my mother.
May you like
He had been involved in our family finances long before my father died.
And he had been receiving money from an account that was supposed to belong to me.
