Chapter 4: The Loan Application With My Stepmother's Signature
My father read the document three times.
Each time, his expression became darker.
The loan application listed Denise as the primary applicant.
It described her as a co-owner of the family residence.
But she wasn't.
The property records showed Marcus Johnson and the Angela Johnson Family Trust as the legal owners of their respective interests.
Denise had no ownership interest in the trust.
And yet, the application claimed otherwise.
"Explain this," Dad said.
Denise stared at the floor.
"I can explain.""
"Then do it.""
She crossed her arms.
"I was trying to help the company.""
Dad's eyebrows pulled together.
"What company?""
"Your company.""
"My construction company?""
She nodded.
"We've had expenses.""
"Which expenses?""
"Marcus, you know how expensive running a business can be.""
He slammed the document against the table.
"I run that business. I know exactly how expensive it is.""
Harold remained quiet.
Denise glanced at him.
"This is a private family matter.""
Harold adjusted his glasses.
"Unfortunately, the application contains statements about property ownership that appear inconsistent with the recorded title. It is not simply a family matter.""
Dad looked at the signature.
"Did you sign this?""
Denise hesitated.
"Yes.""
"Did you tell the lender you owned part of this house?""
"I was told I could.""
"By whom?""
She looked away.
Dad's voice became colder.
"Denise. By whom?""
"An adviser.""
"Name.""
She didn't answer.
I sat on the sofa, barely breathing.
I had never seen my father this angry.
Not even when his company lost a major contract several years earlier.
This was different.
This was personal.
Harold opened his folder.
"The application was submitted through a private lending firm. The amount requested was substantial.""
Dad looked at the number.
His face changed.
"Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars?""
Denise immediately began speaking.
"Marcus, listen to me. It was an opportunity.""
"An opportunity to do what?""
"Invest.""
"In what?""
She hesitated.
"A business project.""
"What business project?""
She looked toward me.
"Can we discuss this without the boy present?""
My father didn't move.
"He's the beneficiary of the property you're trying to use. He stays.""
Denise's mouth tightened.
Harold nodded.
"That is appropriate.""
I looked at her.
"What were you going to do with the money?""
She turned sharply.
"Stay out of adult business.""
Dad's eyes flashed.
"Don't speak to him like that.""
She laughed.
"Now you're defending him?""
"He is my son.""
"Your son has been the center of every decision in this family since I married you!""
The words hung in the air.
Dad stared at her.
I felt my stomach twist.
There it was.
The truth she had been hiding behind years of polite smiles.
She didn't simply dislike me.
She resented my existence.
Dad spoke quietly.
"Is that what this has been about?""
Denise looked away.
"Marcus, I have sacrificed everything for this family.""
"Nobody asked you to sacrifice anything.""
"I gave up opportunities.""
"Which ones?""
She looked at him.
"Don't do this.""
"Which opportunities?""
She didn't answer.
Harold finally spoke.
"Marcus, there is another issue that needs attention.""
Dad turned.
"What now?""
"The lender requested verification of the property's ownership. Someone provided a document that appears to have been altered.""
My father frowned.
"Altered how?""
Harold slid a copy across the table.
I leaned forward.
It was a property ownership summary.
At the bottom was a signature that looked like my father's.
But something about it seemed wrong.
The letters were too uneven.
The date was three years old.
Dad picked it up.
"I didn't sign this.""
Denise's face went pale.
Harold nodded.
"That is what I suspected.""
Dad looked at his wife.
"Did you forge my signature?""
"No!""
"Then who did?""
"I don't know!""
"Denise!""
She suddenly stood.
"I am not going to sit here and be interrogated by two men and a boy!""
Dad pointed toward the chair.
"Sit down.""
She didn't.
Instead, she grabbed her purse.
"I'm leaving.""
Harold closed his folder.
"Before you do, I should mention that the lender has not approved the loan. The application is currently under review.""
Denise stopped.
Dad looked confused.
"Why?""
"Because the ownership documents did not match the public property records.""
Harold paused.
"And because the lender contacted my office to verify the trust's consent. I refused.""
Denise slowly lowered her purse.
My father stared at her.
"You were going to put our house at risk without telling me?""
"I was trying to help you!""
"How?""
She looked at me again.
Then she said something I would never forget.
"Because somebody has to think about the future instead of spending everything on a child who isn't even going to appreciate it!""
The room went silent.
Dad's face changed.
"He's seventeen.""
"He is almost an adult.""
"He's my son.""
"And what am I?""
Dad looked at her.
"My wife.""
She laughed bitterly.
"Exactly. Your wife. But somehow I always come second.""
I felt my throat tighten.
Dad slowly stood.
"You're not coming second to Malik.""
"Really?""
"He's my responsibility.""
"And I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life watching you give everything to Angela's child?""
My father went completely still.
Harold looked down.
I felt as though someone had punched me.
Denise continued.
"I have been patient for five years. I have waited for you to make room for me. But every decision revolves around him.""
Dad's voice dropped.
"Stop.""
"No. I'm tired of pretending.""
"Denise.""
"That boy has a trust, a house, college money, and every opportunity Angela could arrange. What exactly am I supposed to have?""
I looked at her.
"Maybe a husband who doesn't need to take things from his son to make you happy.""
She turned toward me.
"Don't you dare—"
"Enough!"" Dad shouted.
The room shook with his voice.
He looked at Denise.
"Get out of this room.""
She stared at him.
"You're choosing him?""
Dad didn't answer immediately.
Then he looked at me.
And something in his expression broke.
"I'm choosing not to be the kind of father who throws his child away.""
Denise's eyes widened.
She grabbed her purse.
"Fine.""
She stormed toward the staircase.
Halfway up, she turned.
"Marcus, you'll regret this.""
He didn't follow her.
The front door remained closed.
For several minutes, nobody moved.
Then Dad sat down.
He covered his face with both hands.
Harold waited.
I looked at the man who had taught me to ride a bicycle, who had carried me on his shoulders at football games, and who had promised me we would always be a team.
He looked older than he had the day before.
"Malik," he whispered.
I looked at him.
"I'm sorry.""
I didn't respond.
He swallowed.
"I should have listened.""
"Yes.""
"I should have asked you what happened.""
"Yes.""
"I shouldn't have put that suitcase by the door.""
I looked toward it.
"No, you shouldn't have.""
He nodded.
Harold closed his briefcase.
"I suggest we review the remaining estate documents privately. There are matters that need to be addressed.""
Dad looked up.
"More?""
Harold nodded.
"Angela anticipated that someone might attempt to interfere with Malik's inheritance. She left specific instructions for that possibility.""
My stomach tightened.
"What kind of instructions?""
Harold glanced at me.
"She named a second trustee.""
"Who?""
He hesitated.
Then he answered.
"Rochelle.""
I blinked.
"My aunt?""
"Yes.""
Dad looked confused.
"Why would Angela name Rochelle instead of me?""
Harold carefully selected his words.
"Because Angela wanted an independent person involved if there was ever a conflict between your interests and Malik's.""
My father looked wounded.
"She didn't trust me?""
Harold shook his head.
"She loved you. But she understood that circumstances can change.""
Dad lowered his eyes.
I thought about my mother's letter.
Sometimes people become so afraid of losing what they have that they forget what they promised to protect.
I wondered whether she had somehow known this would happen.
Then Harold opened another folder.
"This is the document that concerns me most.""
He placed it in front of my father.
Dad read the heading.
His face went white.
"What's this?""
Harold looked toward me.
"An authorization request.""
I leaned forward.
The document was dated six weeks earlier.
And it contained my name.
May you like
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
