Chapter 4: My Mother's Signature
“Nia Bennett,” Denise repeated through the speakerphone.
“She's listed as the beneficiary of the original agreement.””
My father stood motionless beside the wooden table, his navy shirt creased beneath his clenched fists. The sunlight poured through the tall living-room windows, illuminating the bank statements scattered between us.
I stared at the phone.
“My mother died six years ago,” I said.
“How could she have signed something connected to this account?””
Denise's voice softened.
“That's exactly what we're trying to establish.””
Celeste abruptly reached for the phone.
“End the call, Marcus. This is private family business.””
My father moved the phone out of her reach.
“No more secrets.””
“I'm your wife!””
“And Nia is my daughter. Someone has been taking money meant for her future.””
Celeste's mouth tightened.
“I didn't steal anything from that girl.””
“Then explain why her college fund is nearly empty.””
“I already told you. I was going to replace it.””
“When?””
Celeste looked away.
Marcus returned his attention to Denise.
“Send me the original agreement, including the signature page.””
“I've already requested the archived file,” Denise replied.
“It may take some time. But Marcus, I need you to understand something. The beneficiary designation appears to have been established before your marriage to Celeste.””
My stomach twisted.
“Dad, did Mom leave me money?””
He looked at me, and his expression changed. For a moment, he seemed to be remembering something he'd spent years trying not to revisit.
“Your mother handled some financial matters privately,” he said.
“She was organized. She wanted to make sure you were taken care of.””
“Did she tell you about this account?””
He hesitated.
“No. Not this one.””
Celeste gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Of course she didn't. Renee never trusted anyone else to make decisions.””
My father turned toward her.
“Don't speak about your mother that way,” I said.
Celeste raised her eyebrows.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
She stepped closer, her burgundy blouse catching the daylight as she folded her arms.
“You've spent six years blaming me for every uncomfortable feeling you've ever had. I tried to build a relationship with you, Nia. I gave you a home, food, clothes, and opportunities. Yet somehow, I'm always the villain.””
“You bought Aria a laptop with my savings.””
“And I've already explained why.””
“No. You've explained why you think you're entitled to it.””
Aria stood beside the table, her cream sleeves pushed up to her elbows.
“Mom, stop.””
Celeste whipped around.
“You stay out of this.””
“No,” Aria said, her voice shaking.
“You told me Dad bought the laptop. You let me open it while Nia was standing there crying.””
“I was trying to give you something you deserved.””
“Then why didn't you use your own money?””
Celeste stared at her daughter.
“Because you have no idea what it costs to maintain this household.””
Marcus shook his head.
“This household has never needed sixty-eight thousand dollars in secret transfers.””
Celeste's eyes flashed.
“You don't know what I did to keep your business running.””
“Then show me the records.””
She didn't move.
“Show me the records, Celeste.””
Instead, she snatched the folder from the table and hugged it against her chest.
“I'm not handing over private documents to be used against me.””
Marcus's voice became dangerously calm.
“Those documents concern my company.””
“They concern my marriage.””
“They concern money that disappeared without my permission.””
Celeste looked toward the front door.
I recognized that look. She was calculating her next move, searching for a way to turn the argument into something that made her the victim.
Then her gaze settled on me.
“Your mother wasn't the saint you think she was.””
The words struck so suddenly that I forgot to breathe.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Take that back.””
Celeste continued.
“She kept things from you. She kept things from him, too. Maybe if you knew what Renee was really doing with her money, you'd understand why I had to make certain decisions.””
“Stop using my mother to justify what you did,” I whispered.
“I'm telling you the truth.””
“Then prove it.””
For the first time, Celeste had nothing to say.
My father took his phone from the table and ended the call with Denise after asking her to send the records directly to his attorney.
Then he turned to his wife.
“You have until tomorrow morning to provide a complete explanation of every transfer. After that, the investigation proceeds without your cooperation.””
Celeste stared at him in disbelief.
“You're threatening me?””
“I'm setting a boundary.””
“After six years of marriage?””
“After six years of trusting you.””
Her expression crumpled for a second, but she quickly recovered.
“You'll regret humiliating me.””
Marcus didn't answer.
Celeste picked up her purse and marched toward the hallway. This time, neither of us tried to stop her.
At the doorway, she turned back.
“Nia, if you keep digging into your mother's affairs, don't expect to like what you find.””
Then she left.
The door clicked shut.
I sank onto the sofa, pressing my palms against my knees to stop them from shaking.
Aria sat at the opposite end.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered.
I stared at the unopened MacBook box.
“I don't know whether I can forgive you.””
She nodded, tears filling her eyes.
“I understand.””
My father sat beside me.
“Whatever your mother left you, we'll find it. And we're going to get to the bottom of those transfers.””
I leaned against his shoulder, but my thoughts remained fixed on Celeste's last words.
Your mother wasn't the saint you think she was.
For six years, I'd kept my mother's memory carefully preserved. I remembered her singing while she cooked, leaving notes in my lunchbox, and kissing my forehead before school. She'd made promises about my future even when our finances were tight.
I couldn't imagine her secretly signing financial agreements.
But I couldn't ignore the document, either.
An hour later, Marcus's phone chimed.
An email from Denise.
*ARCHIVED AGREEMENT RECOVERED — ORIGINAL SIGNATURE PAGE ATTACHED.*
My father opened the attachment.
The document was dated eight months before my mother died.
Her signature appeared at the bottom, unmistakable in its looping handwriting.
Above it was a clause identifying me as the beneficiary of a protected financial trust.
The listed amount was nearly half a million dollars.
I stared at the screen.
“Dad,” I whispered, “where did that money come from?””
He scrolled to the final page.
His expression changed.
Because beneath my mother's signature was another signature.
One belonging to a person who had never been part of our family.
And beside that signature was a handwritten note:
May you like
*In the event of Renee Bennett's death, all account inquiries must be directed to the appointed trustee.*
The trustee's name was Celeste Carter.
