I swallowed.
"Mom told everyone it was sold."
Patricia was quiet.
Then she said something unexpected.
"Your father once told me he wanted all three of you to have equal opportunities."
My throat tightened.
"He said no child should have to beg another family member for help."
I closed my eyes.
That sounded like Dad.
He believed in fairness.
He believed in independence.
And he hated seeing relatives use money to control one another.
Patricia continued.
"He wanted the property to provide stability, not create jealousy."
I looked toward Mom's house.
"Then he would hate what's happening now."
Patricia sighed.
I asked whether she'd be willing to speak with Angela about what Dad had told her.
She agreed.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Nia, be careful with Gerald."
My stomach tightened.
"He was involved in your mother's finances before your father died."
Patricia hesitated.
"Your father didn't trust him."
I sat upright.
"He believed Gerald was encouraging Evelyn to make risky investments."
My heart pounded.
"Did Dad ever confront him?"
"Yes. They argued at a family barbecue about ten years ago."
I remembered that barbecue.
I was in college.
Dad had left early after a heated conversation with someone in the backyard.
I'd assumed it was a disagreement about politics.
Now I wondered whether it involved money.
Patricia continued.
"Your father told Gerald to stay away from the family's property."
I stared at Mom's house.
"And Mom kept working with him?"
"Apparently."
I thanked Patricia.
Then I called Angela.
She made notes and arranged to interview my aunt.
That evening, Marcus came to my home.
I considered refusing to open the door.
Then I saw his expression.
He looked exhausted.
I let him inside.
He sat at the kitchen table.
For several minutes, he said nothing.
Then he placed a folder in front of me.
"I found these in my old email."
I opened it.
The folder contained messages from Mom and Gerald.
Some were dated years earlier.
They discussed property management.
Rental income.
And investment opportunities.
One message referred to the family trust.
Another mentioned keeping beneficiary communications limited.
I stared at Marcus.
"How long have you had these?"
He looked ashamed.
"I didn't remember them until Angela asked about the old property."
I scanned the messages.
Then I found one that made my stomach drop.
Mom had written:
Nia asks too many questions. It's better if she believes the building is gone.
I stared at the sentence.
My hands began shaking.
She hadn't forgotten to tell me.
She hadn't misunderstood the trust.
She had deliberately decided to keep me uninformed.
Marcus watched my face.
I couldn't speak.
He reached toward me.
I pulled away.
For a moment, his eyes filled.
Then he whispered, "I'm sorry."
I looked at him.
"Did you know?"
He shook his head.
"Not then. I never understood what the messages meant."
I wanted to believe him.
But my trust had been damaged too many times.
I pushed the folder toward him.
"Send everything to Angela."
He nodded.
Then he said something that surprised me.
"I've resigned from the Carter Legacy Initiative."
I stared at him.
"I told Mom and Gerald I won't participate."
My throat tightened.
He looked down.
"Because I finally realized the position was never mine to earn. It was supposed to be bought with your money."
For the first time, I saw genuine shame on his face.
He took a breath.
"I don't expect you to forgive me."
I looked away.
He nodded slowly.
Then he stood.
Before leaving, he turned back.
"Nia, I should have defended you at dinner."
My eyes filled.
"Yes. You should have."
He swallowed.
"I'll never forget that."
After he left, I sat alone.
The house was quiet.
Then my phone vibrated.
I answered.
"Nia, we received a response from Gerald's attorney."
My stomach tightened.
"What did he say?"
"He claims the one-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar transfer was repayment of a private loan."
I stared at the wall.
"What loan?"
"An alleged loan Gerald made to your mother."
I took a breath.
"Is there documentation?"
"He's provided a promissory note."
I closed my eyes.
Then Angela continued.
"The note bears your father's signature."
My heart stopped.
Dad had been dead for nine years.
And the date on the alleged loan was only five years old.