Chapter 3: The Price of Being the Favorite Daughter
I had never seen my father look afraid before.
Angry, yes.
Disappointed, certainly.
But afraid?
Never.
He stood beside the vanity, holding the second envelope as though it contained something dangerous.
Mom reached for it.
Robert moved it out of her reach.
"Don't," he said.
She stared at him.
"Robert, this is a family matter.""
"It stopped being a family matter when you used our daughter's name.""
I looked between them.
"What does that mean?""
Dad handed me the envelope.
"Read it.""
Inside were photocopies of bank statements, company filings, and an agreement bearing my signature.
Except I had never signed it.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
My fingers went numb.
The document showed that a company called Bennett Holdings had been preparing to acquire a commercial property portfolio worth several million dollars.
My name appeared as the majority beneficiary.
The property was supposed to be transferred into a trust after my marriage.
Marcus was listed as the appointed financial manager.
I looked at my father.
"Why is my name on this?""
He pulled out a chair.
"Because your grandfather left you a trust.""
I blinked.
"What trust?""
Dad's expression softened.
"Your grandfather established it when you were born. He wanted to make sure both his granddaughters had something of their own.""
I looked at Brielle.
She had gone completely still.
Dad continued.
"The trust was divided into two equal portions. One for you and one for Brielle. But yours contained additional shares in the family property company because you were named the successor trustee.""
I shook my head.
"I don't understand.""
"You weren't supposed to manage the assets until you turned thirty. The wedding was going to trigger a review of the trust documents because Marcus was listed as your intended spouse and potential financial representative.""
I looked down at the forged signature.
"Who signed this?""
Dad didn't answer immediately.
Then he looked at Mom.
"Your mother.""
I turned.
Mom's face had lost all its color.
"Mom?""
She straightened her shoulders.
"It wasn't fraud.""
"Then what was it?""
"I was handling paperwork.""
"With my signature?""
"I had your permission.""
"No, you didn't.""
She glanced at Dad.
"Robert, explain the rest.""
Dad shook his head.
"You explain it.""
For the first time, I saw my mother become genuinely angry.
"Fine.""
She turned toward me.
"Your father was going to sell part of the property portfolio. The business needed restructuring. Marcus offered to help.""
I looked at the papers.
"By becoming the manager of my trust?""
"He has experience.""
"He's a real estate agent.""
"He's a businessman.""
"He's my fiancé.""
"Exactly.""
The word struck me.
Exactly.
I stared at her.
Mom sighed.
"Nia, you have always been so trusting. Your father thought you needed someone who could help you understand these things.""
I felt sick.
"So you gave him control of my inheritance?""
"No. We were discussing it.""
Dad slammed his palm against the vanity.
"Stop lying.""
The makeup brushes jumped.
"Marcus had already submitted the documents to the bank," he continued.
"He was preparing to move the money into his own development company.""
I looked at the paperwork again.
There it was.
A proposed transfer of $1.2 million.
My inheritance.
I looked at Marcus's signature.
Then at the date.
The transfer had been scheduled for the Monday after our honeymoon.
I whispered, "He was going to take it.""
Dad nodded.
"That's what I believe.""
Mom shook her head.
"Marcus said it was temporary financing.""
"Temporary?"" Dad snapped.
"He was using her trust as collateral.""
Brielle suddenly spoke.
"That's not what he told me.""
Everyone turned.
My sister was standing beside the makeup chair, gripping its back.
Dad looked at her.
"What did he tell you?""
She swallowed.
"He said Nia knew about the investment.""
I stared at her.
"Why would you believe that?""
"Because he told me you were going to let him manage everything after the wedding.""
"Did you know about the transfer?""
"No.""
"Did you know about the forged signature?""
Her eyes filled again.
"No.""
Mom stepped forward.
"Enough. This is not the time to interrogate her.""
I turned toward her.
"Why do you keep defending her?""
"Because she's your sister.""
"And what am I?""
Mom looked at me.
For one terrible second, she didn't answer.
Then she said, "You have always been stronger than Brielle.""
I stared.
There it was.
The sentence that had followed us through childhood.
Nia can handle it.
Nia understands.
Nia doesn't need as much attention.
When Brielle got into trouble at school, I was expected to help her.
When she needed money, I was expected to lend it.
When she cried, I was expected to forgive her.
When I succeeded, Mom told me to be humble because Brielle might feel left behind.
I had thought that was what being an older sister meant.
Now I wondered whether my family had simply trained me to accept being the one who got hurt.
Dad stepped closer.
"Your grandfather left instructions about the trust. He specifically stated that neither your mother nor I could authorize a transfer without your independent consent.""
I looked at the signature again.
"So why did the bank accept it?""
"They haven't," Dad said.
"I caught the irregularity during the final review.""
I exhaled.
At least the money hadn't disappeared.
But one question remained.
"Why did Marcus want to marry me?""
Dad looked directly into my eyes.
"Because your trust gave him access to a business opportunity he couldn't afford on his own.""
I felt the room tilt.
Three years.
Three years of dinners, vacations, anniversaries, and whispered promises.
Had any of it been real?
I remembered Marcus sitting beside me in the hospital when I had food poisoning.
I remembered him driving four hours to surprise me on my birthday.
I remembered him telling me I was the person he wanted to grow old with.
Were those moments genuine?
Or had he simply been patient?
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
The first line read:
*Nia, I know what happened in the bridal room. You need to leave before your mother tells the guests what you supposedly agreed to.*
I frowned.
A second message arrived.
*Ask her why she told everyone you were mentally unstable last year.*
My blood ran cold.
I looked up.
Mom was watching me.
"What is it?"" she asked.
I didn't answer.
Another message appeared.
This time, there was a photograph attached.
It showed a document from a medical clinic.
My name was printed at the top.
Below it was a date from the previous year.
And beside the section marked Emergency Contact and Authorized Family Representative was my mother's signature.
I zoomed in.
Then I looked at Dad.
"What's this?""
He took the phone.
His expression changed immediately.
"Where did you get this?""
"I don't know. Someone just sent it.""
He read the document carefully.
Then he looked at Mom.
"What did you do?""
Mom's lips parted.
"Nia, don't listen to whoever sent that.""
I looked at the photograph again.
The clinic was one I'd visited last year after a car accident.
I remembered being exhausted and confused after the collision.
I remembered Mom insisting she would handle the paperwork.
But the document contained something I had never been told.
A request to assess my decision-making capacity.
And the signature authorizing it belonged to my mother.
"Why would you request a psychological evaluation of me?""
Mom took one step forward.
"It was for your protection.""
"From what?""
She looked at Dad.
He was staring at her as though he no longer recognized the woman he'd married.
I opened the message thread again.
A third message arrived.
*Your mother didn't just know about Marcus and Brielle. She helped him get close to you.*
My heart hammered.
I typed one question.
*Who are you?*
The reply came almost instantly.
*Someone who was in your mother's office the night she offered Marcus a deal.*
Then another message appeared.
*And I have the original recording.*
I looked at Mom.
For the first time that day, she wasn't trying to hide her fear.
She was terrified.
And then the ballroom speakers crackled.
The music stopped.
A microphone squealed.
My father's voice echoed through the entire restaurant.
"Everyone, please remain seated. There will be no wedding today.""
I turned toward the door.
Mom grabbed my arm.
"Nia, don't let him do this.""
I pulled away.
Dad looked at me.
His voice softened.
"There's one more thing you need to know, sweetheart.""
"What?""
He glanced at the phone in my hand.
Then he said the words that made my stomach drop.
"The person who sent you that message isn't a stranger.""
He paused.
"She's the woman who originally introduced Marcus to your mother.""
And before I could ask another question, the bridal room door opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She was carrying a small black recording device.
May you like
I recognized her immediately.
She was Marcus's former fiancée.
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