Chapter 8: The Daughter He Tried to Use
I read my name again.
Then I photographed the page and sent it to Marcus.
His reply came less than a minute later.
Do not sign anything. I'm contacting my attorney now.
I called him immediately.
“What does the reference number mean?””
“I don't know yet,” he said.
“But I want you to take every document Darius left and put it somewhere safe.””
“Why is my name there?””
“I can't tell you until we know what the lender intended to do.””
I paced across the living room.
“Dad, I need to understand.””
“I know. I'm going to find out.””
“Could Darius have taken out a loan in my name?””
Marcus paused.
“Has he ever had access to your Social Security number, your driver's license, or your financial information?””
I thought back over the previous eight months.
Darius had asked me to help him set up a new phone. He had borrowed my laptop to print documents. He had asked about my job, my salary, and whether I had savings.
At the time, I had interpreted those questions as a father's attempt to understand his daughter's life.
Now they felt different.
“He used my laptop,” I said.
“And he asked me for my date of birth when we were filling out the wedding insurance paperwork.””
“Did you give him any account passwords?””
“No.””
“Did you sign any financial documents he prepared?””
I closed my eyes.
“There was one form. He said it was for the wedding vendors.””
“What kind of form?””
“I don't remember. It was several pages long. He said it would make it easier to coordinate payments.””
Marcus's voice sharpened.
“Did you read it?””
“I skimmed it.””
“Do you have a copy?””
“I don't know.””
He exhaled.
“Nia, I need you to hear me. You're not in trouble for asking these questions. But we need to establish exactly what you signed.””
A knock sounded at the front door.
I jumped.
“Dad, someone's here.””
“Don't open it until you know who it is.””
I looked through the peephole.
A woman stood on the porch, holding a leather portfolio. She appeared to be in her late forties, with short dark hair and a navy coat.
When I opened the door, she introduced herself.
“I'm Rebecca Lawson. I'm an attorney representing Marcus Bennett.””
I unfastened the chain.
“Is my father all right?””
“He's fine. He's on his way here. He asked me to meet you first because we need to preserve some documents.””
She stepped inside and placed the portfolio on the table.
“I understand Mr. Cole has left a proposed property security agreement here.””
I nodded.
Rebecca examined the document carefully.
“Did you sign anything related to his debts?””
“I may have signed a wedding coordination form.””
She looked up.
“Do you have a copy?””
“No.””
“Then we'll need to locate it. Don't contact the lender directly until we've reviewed what was signed.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Do you think he used my identity?””
“I don't know yet. The note on this document suggests that someone considered an alternative source of security. It doesn't prove that anything was done.””
She opened her portfolio.
“Have you checked your credit reports recently?””
“No.””
“Then we'll need to do that. We'll also need to contact the wedding vendors and confirm whether any account was opened in your name.””
I sank onto the sofa.
“This is my wedding day.””
Rebecca's expression softened.
“I know.””
“I was supposed to be getting married.””
“And instead, you're discovering information that may affect your finances and your family's property. It's unfair, but you can deal with one thing at a time.””
I looked at the letters on the table.
“Why would my father do this?””
Rebecca didn't answer immediately.
“Sometimes people in desperate situations convince themselves that the next lie will be the last one they need to tell. That doesn't excuse the lie. It just explains how they keep going.””
I thought of Darius standing at the window, admitting he had wanted to be my father.
I thought of the way he had said it, as if wanting something made it his right.
Rebecca continued, “Your father asked me to tell you something.””
I looked up.
“Which father?””
She gave me a sad smile.
“Marcus.””
My throat tightened.
“What?””
“He asked me to remind you that you don't owe him a decision today. Not about Darius, not about the wedding, and not about what your relationship with him will look like in the future.””
I looked away.
Even now, Marcus was making room for me to choose.
The front door opened.
Marcus stepped inside wearing his old coat and carrying a paper bag from the bakery near our former apartment.
He looked tired.
But when he saw me, he smiled faintly.
“I brought you something.””
I stared at the bag.
“What is it?””
“Those cinnamon rolls you liked when you were little.””
I began to cry.
He set the bag on the table.
Then he looked at Rebecca.
“Have you reviewed the document?””
“Yes. We need to find out whether Nia signed anything connected to the loan.””
Marcus nodded.
He turned to me.
“Do you remember the form?””
I covered my face.
“I think so. Darius said it was for the wedding vendors. He told me it would save time if I authorized him to coordinate payments.””
“Did you read the entire thing?””
“No.””
Marcus pulled out a chair and sat beside me.
“Okay. We'll find it.””
I looked at him.
“Are you angry with me?””
He was quiet.
Then he said, “I'm angry that someone used your trust against you. I'm disappointed that you didn't listen when I tried to warn you. And I'm worried about what else we might discover.””
My tears fell harder.
“But I'm not going to stop being your father because you made a mistake.””
I leaned against him.
For the first time since the wedding, he wrapped his arms around me.
I clung to his jacket, breathing in the familiar smell of laundry detergent and the peppermint candies he always kept in his pockets.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
He rested his cheek against my hair.
“I know.””
We stayed like that until Rebecca gently cleared her throat.
“I hate to interrupt,” she said, “but I think we should search for the original form while the details are fresh.””
I wiped my face and stood.
We searched the desk, the kitchen drawers, and the folder where I kept my wedding paperwork.
Finally, I found a thin envelope marked Vendor Authorization.
Inside was the form.
My signature appeared on the last page.
The first page contained my personal information.
The second authorized Darius to coordinate certain wedding payments.
The third page was different.
It granted permission to share my financial information with a third-party service provider.
And the fourth contained a clause I hadn't noticed.
The document allowed the service provider to request a credit facility in my name, subject to a separate verification process.
I stared at it.
“What's a credit facility?””
Rebecca took the document.
“It can mean several things, depending on the agreement. We need the full terms and confirmation of whether any application was submitted.””
Marcus leaned forward.
“Did you ever receive a message from a lender?””
I searched my phone.
There were dozens of wedding-related emails, payment confirmations, and vendor messages.
Then I found one.
It had arrived three weeks earlier.
The subject line read: Your application requires additional verification.
I opened it.
The sender was a financial services company I didn't recognize.
The message stated that an application had been started using my details but had not been completed because further identity verification was required.
I looked at Rebecca.
“I never applied for anything.””
She read the email carefully.
“Then we need to contact the company through its official channels and confirm the status. Don't click any links in this message.””
Marcus's face had gone pale.
“Darius,” he whispered.
I shook my head.
“He wouldn't.””
Neither of them answered.
I scrolled down.
The application reference number matched the handwritten number on the security agreement.
My knees weakened.
Rebecca took the phone from my hand and copied the reference into her notes.
“This is important evidence,” she said.
“It still doesn't establish who submitted the application, but it gives us a concrete lead.””
I looked at Marcus.
“He was going to use my name to secure his debt.””
“We don't know that yet,” Marcus replied.
“We know an application was started. We need proof before we draw conclusions.””
His restraint made me feel worse.
I wanted him to condemn Darius. I wanted him to tell me I had been right to doubt him, that the truth had finally justified everything.
Instead, Marcus insisted on facts.
Rebecca gathered the documents and prepared to leave.
Before she went, she turned to me.
“I'm going to contact the financial services company and request the application records. In the meantime, freeze your credit where the relevant agencies permit it, change your passwords, and secure your identity documents.””
I nodded.
After she left, Marcus and I sat in the living room.
The cinnamon rolls remained untouched on the table.
I stared at the photograph of my mother.
“Did you ever think I would choose him over you?””
Marcus followed my gaze.
“No.””
“Not even once?””
He shook his head.
“I knew you were curious about him. I knew you wanted answers. I just hoped he would give them to you honestly.””
I looked down at my hands.
“What if I hadn't found the letter?””
Marcus took a long breath.
“Then we'd be having a different conversation.””
“Would you have told me about the debt?””
“Yes.””
“Even if it meant ruining my relationship with him?””
“I would have told you what I knew. I wouldn't have made the decision for you.””
I swallowed.
“You're still protecting me.””
He smiled sadly.
“I'm trying to help you protect yourself.””
For a moment, the house felt peaceful again.
Then Marcus's phone rang.
He answered, listened, and gradually sat straighter.
“What do you mean the application was submitted?””
My heart stopped.
He glanced at me.
“Yes. That's her information. No, she did not authorize any loan that we know of.””
He listened again.
Then he said, “Send the records to Rebecca Lawson. She is representing us.””
When he ended the call, I could barely speak.
“What happened?””
Marcus's face was grim.
“The application wasn't completed. But the lender confirmed that someone submitted it using your information.””
I pressed my hands against my mouth.
“Who?””
“They haven't verified the applicant's identity yet. Rebecca will need to obtain the records.””
I looked toward the front door.
Darius had left less than an hour earlier.
And he had known exactly where I lived, what I earned, and how much money Marcus had spent on my wedding.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I can explain everything. Meet me tomorrow morning at the apartment. Come alone.
A second message followed.
If you want to know what your mother discovered before she died, you need to hear it from me.
I showed Marcus.
He read the messages twice.
Then he looked at me.
“Do you want to know what he has to say?””
I stared at the screen.
“Yes.””
“Then you won't go alone.””
I nodded.
May you like
But beneath the second message was one final line, sent just as I was about to put the phone away.
And bring the letter your mother left for me.
