Chapter 4: The Secret About My Father
For a moment, I thought I'd misunderstood Vanessa.
My father had been dead for twelve years.
He had been a quiet man who worked as a mechanic, loved old jazz records, and never raised his voice unless someone mistreated my mother.
He had left us a modest house, a small insurance policy, and a lifetime of memories.
There was nothing about him that I believed could explain what was happening in my kitchen.
"What does my father have to do with this?"" I asked.
Vanessa stood at the bottom of the staircase, gripping the banister.
"Marcus, I think we should sit down.""
"No. You've had three weeks to explain yourself. You're going to explain yourself now.""
My mother held my arm.
"Please, sweetheart. Let her speak.""
I looked at Evelyn.
Her face was pale, and her fingers were trembling.
I guided her toward the living room.
Vanessa followed us.
Nobody sat.
I held up the property transfer agreement.
"Start here. Why did you tell my mother I wanted her to sell her house?""
Vanessa swallowed.
"Because the house has a complicated history.""
"That's not an answer.""
She glanced at Evelyn.
"Your father borrowed money before he died.""
I frowned.
"From whom?""
"I don't know all the details.""
"Then how do you know he borrowed money?""
Vanessa opened her handbag and removed a folded document.
She placed it on the coffee table.
It was an old mortgage agreement.
The date was eleven months before my father died.
The lender's name was unfamiliar.
The original loan amount was $180,000.
I stared at the signature.
My father's handwriting.
His unmistakable signature.
But there was something strange.
The property description didn't match the house.
It listed a second parcel of land.
A property I'd never heard of.
"Where did you get this?""
Vanessa sat down.
"Your father used the house as collateral.""
"Why?""
"He needed money.""
"For what?""
She looked at my mother.
Evelyn shook her head.
"Don't look at me. I don't know anything about this.""
Vanessa sighed.
"Your father had business problems.""
I laughed without humor.
"My father was a mechanic. He owned a small garage.""
"Exactly.""
"Exactly what?""
"He wasn't making enough money.""
I leaned forward.
"Watch your words.""
Vanessa continued.
"He borrowed money from a private investor. He was supposed to repay it within two years. He died before the final payment.""
My mother shook her head.
"That's impossible.""
Vanessa turned toward her.
"Evelyn, please don't pretend you didn't know.""
My mother's eyes widened.
"I knew your father had a small loan. He told me he had paid it back.""
Vanessa shook her head.
"Apparently, he hadn't.""
I picked up the document.
"Who owns the debt now?""
Vanessa hesitated.
Then she pointed to a name on the final page.
*Blackwood Capital Holdings.*
I recognized it.
Not because I'd dealt with the company.
Because it was the investment group mentioned in the property transfer agreement.
"You're telling me a company has been waiting twelve years to collect a debt from my father?""
"Yes.""
"And you somehow discovered this while I was in Chicago?""
She looked down.
"I received a letter.""
"When?""
"About a month ago.""
I stared at her.
"Before I left?""
She nodded.
"And you waited until I was gone to start making arrangements?""
"I was trying to protect you.""
"By stealing my mother's medical savings?""
She flinched.
"That money was meant to cover expenses.""
"Whose expenses?""
She didn't answer.
I picked up the mortgage document again.
Something caught my attention.
The loan had been secured against two properties.
My mother's house.
And a second address.
I read it aloud.
"Forty-two Willow Creek Road.""
My mother slowly stood.
"That's your father's old garage.""
I looked at her.
"What?""
She walked closer.
"Your father owned the garage before he died. Afterward, I sold it.""
"To whom?""
"I don't remember the man's name. Your father had already arranged most of it.""
Vanessa interrupted.
"The garage wasn't sold.""
My mother turned.
"What are you talking about?""
Vanessa reached into her handbag again.
This time, she produced a property search report.
The garage was still registered under an old holding company.
The company had been dissolved.
But the property itself had never been transferred.
I stared at the document.
"Why?""
"Because the loan wasn't properly settled," Vanessa said.
I rubbed my forehead.
"This makes no sense.""
She leaned forward.
"Your father left more than debt, Marcus.""
"What does that mean?""
She hesitated.
Then she said something that made my mother grab the back of the sofa.
"He left a trust.""
Silence.
"What trust?""
Vanessa opened another folder.
Inside was a copy of an old legal document.
The paper had yellowed around the edges.
It was dated three months before my father's death.
The heading read:
*CARTER FAMILY PROPERTY TRUST.*
I began reading.
My father's garage.
The house.
A commercial property.
And an investment account.
All listed as assets.
But the beneficiary section had been covered by a black strip on the photocopy.
"Where's the original?""
Vanessa looked at me.
"Your father gave it to someone.""
"Who?""
She didn't answer.
I turned toward my mother.
"Mom?""
She looked terrified.
Then, slowly, she whispered:
"Your father told me never to let anyone take the blue toolbox.""
I blinked.
"The toolbox?""
She nodded.
"The old metal one he kept in the garage. He said it contained something that belonged to you.""
Vanessa stood abruptly.
"That's not important.""
I turned toward her.
"Why?""
"Because it's just an old toolbox.""
My mother shook her head.
"No. Your father made me promise.""
Vanessa's face tightened.
"That was twelve years ago, Evelyn. People say strange things when they're sick.""
I looked at her.
"How do you know what he said?""
She froze.
I stepped closer.
"Vanessa, how do you know what my father said?""
She looked away.
And for the first time, I realized she wasn't merely hiding documents.
She knew things about my father's final months that my own mother didn't.
I took the mortgage papers and placed them inside my briefcase.
"Tomorrow morning, we're going to that garage.""
Vanessa shook her head.
"You can't.""
"Why?""
"Because it's not yours.""
I stared at her.
"Then whose is it?""
She opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, my phone rang.
It was Daniel, my attorney.
I answered.
"Daniel?""
His voice was unusually serious.
"Marcus, I've checked the company Vanessa registered. There's a problem.""
"What problem?""
"The property transfer agreement is connected to a much larger transaction.""
"Explain.""
He paused.
"Someone has already paid a deposit to acquire your mother's house.""
I looked at Vanessa.
She had gone completely still.
"Who paid it?"" I asked.
Daniel lowered his voice.
"That's what you need to understand. The buyer isn't Blackwood Capital.""
He took a breath.
"The buyer is a company registered under your wife's maiden name.""
May you like
And Vanessa, standing ten feet away, suddenly whispered:
"Marcus, please. Don't go to the garage.""
