Again.
“How much money went into that account?”
Jasmine studied the screen.
“Approximately 2.7 million dollars over eighteen months.”
I stared.
Two point seven million.
My mind couldn't process it.
“From my grandmother's company?”
“From project accounts funded partly by Whitfield-controlled entities.”
I leaned back.
Tasha whispered, “Oh my God.”
Jasmine continued.
“We've identified invoices for services that may never have been performed.”
I looked at her.
“So Evelyn was taking money?”
“We suspect some payments were improper. We need supporting evidence before reaching conclusions.”
I nodded.
I appreciated her caution.
But inside, I felt sick.
Evelyn always talked about how hard she worked to build her wealth.
She loved reminding everyone that her money made Marcus successful.
What if some of that money wasn't hers?
What if she had been taking it from companies connected to my grandmother?
And what if Marcus knew?
My phone vibrated.
His name appeared.
MARCUS.
I stared at it.
Tasha noticed.
“Don't answer.”
I hesitated.
Then declined the call.
A message arrived seconds later.
“Nia, we need to talk.”
I didn't reply.
Another message followed.
“I didn't know about your grandmother's estate.”
I looked toward Mr. Brooks.
“He says he didn't know.”
The lawyer remained quiet.
Then another message appeared.
“Mom handled the financial paperwork. Please call me.”
My hands tightened.
For five years, Marcus had used those words whenever something went wrong.
Mom handled it.
Mom knows best.
Mom understands business.
And somehow, I always ended up apologizing for asking questions.
Not anymore.
I switched off my phone.
Then looked at Jasmine.
“What can I do to help?”
She nodded.
“Tell me about your involvement in Bennett Construction.”
I took a breath.
“I helped Marcus when he started.”
“How?”
“I contributed savings, helped prepare proposals, and managed paperwork when he couldn't afford administrative staff.”
“Did you sign company agreements?”
“Some early ones.”
“Did you maintain records?”
I thought for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a box at our house.”
Jasmine leaned forward.
“Do you still have access?”
I shook my head.
“Marcus made me leave yesterday.”
Mr. Brooks frowned.
“Did you voluntarily agree to give up possession?”
I hesitated.
“I signed something.”
He held out his hand.
“Do you have a copy?”
“No.”
His expression became serious.
“Nia, we need to obtain that agreement immediately.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because you may have signed provisions affecting your financial rights.”
I felt ashamed.
“I wasn't thinking.”
He shook his head.
“You were under emotional pressure. That doesn't mean we ignore what happened.”
I nodded.
Tasha squeezed my shoulder.
“We'll deal with it.”
That afternoon, Mr. Brooks referred me to a family-law attorney named Olivia Grant.
She reviewed the information I remembered about the divorce papers.
Then she asked whether Marcus had disclosed all marital assets.
I shook my head.
“I don't think so.”
She nodded.
“Then we should not treat that agreement as the final word.”
I looked at her.
“Can it be challenged?”
“Potentially. We need the actual document and the circumstances surrounding your signature.”
For the first time, I felt hope.
Not because I wanted Marcus's money.
Because I wanted someone to acknowledge that I had contributed to our marriage.
I wasn't a stranger who arrived with empty hands.
I had given years of work, love, and sacrifice.
That mattered.
Later that evening, I returned to Tasha's apartment.
I was exhausted.
But I couldn't sleep.
I sat at her kitchen table, looking through old emails.
Then I found something.
A message from Marcus dated three years earlier.
“Nia, can you sign the attached form? Mom needs it for the equipment financing.”
I opened the attachment.
My stomach tightened.
It was a limited authorization form.
It allowed my signature to be used for one specific equipment purchase.
I remembered signing it.
But the suspicious documents Jasmine showed me appeared much broader.
I forwarded the email to Mr. Brooks.
Then I searched further.
Another message appeared.
This one was from Evelyn.
“Don't bother Marcus with every little detail. Just sign what I send you.”
I stared at the screen.
I remembered how small she made me feel.
How foolish.
How unimportant.
And suddenly, I realized something.
Evelyn had spent years training me not to ask questions.
She wanted my silence.
She wanted my trust.
And perhaps she wanted my signature.
My phone rang again.
Marcus.
This time, I answered.
“What do you want?”
His voice sounded strained.
“Nia, please. I need to see you.”
I looked at the clock.
It was almost midnight.
“Why?”
“Because Mom isn't telling me everything.”
I closed my eyes.
“That's not my problem anymore.”
“Nia, I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
He was silent.
Then he whispered, “I found something in her office.”
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
“A copy of a contract.”
I sat up.
“What contract?”
“Between Bennett Construction and Whitfield Holdings.”
I gripped the phone.
“And?”
Marcus took a shaky breath.
“Nia, the agreement says your grandmother had the right to take control of three of our biggest projects if certain conditions were violated.”
I couldn't speak.
He continued.
“And Mom has been moving money out of those projects.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Millions.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Marcus said something that changed everything.
“Nia, I think my mother has been stealing from your family.”
I stared into the darkness.
And for the first time, the man who had ordered me to sign divorce papers sounded genuinely afraid.
But I still didn't know whether he was frightened for me.
Or frightened because the fortune he thought belonged to him was slipping away.
Marcus arrived at Tasha's apartment the next morning.
I hadn't invited him.
He appeared outside the building wearing the same navy suit he had worn when he destroyed our marriage.
But he looked different.
His eyes were red.
His face was unshaven.
And he wasn't carrying whiskey.
He was holding a folder.
Tasha opened the door before I could stop her.
She folded her arms.
“What do you want?”
Marcus looked past her.
“Nia, please.”
I stood behind my friend.
“You shouldn't be here.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
He looked down.
“I brought something you need to see.”
I stared at the folder.
For a moment, I was tempted.
Then I remembered Evelyn slamming the divorce papers onto the table.
Marcus's silence.
The ring.
The humiliation.
I shook my head.
“Give it to my attorney.”
He looked wounded.
“Nia—”
“No.”
My voice surprised me.
It was stronger than I expected.
“You had your chance to talk to me yesterday.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I made a mistake.”
I felt anger rise.
“A mistake?”
He said nothing.
“You sat beside your mother while she treated me like garbage.”
“I know.”
“You watched me cry.”
“I know.”
“And you told me to sign.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
I stared at him.
Then I said quietly, “You didn't make one mistake, Marcus. You made a choice.”
He covered his face.
For a moment, I thought he might cry.
But I didn't reach for him.
Not this time.
He placed the folder on the hallway table.
“Please give this to Mr. Brooks.”
Then he looked at me.
“I'm sorry.”
I didn't answer.
He turned and walked away.
Tasha closed the door.
Then she looked at me.
“You okay?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She hugged me.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel something besides heartbreak.
Pride.
I had finally told Marcus no.
That afternoon, Mr. Brooks examined the folder.
Inside were copies of contracts, bank statements, and internal correspondence.
Jasmine Carter reviewed them carefully.
Then she looked at me.
“Nia, these documents could be important.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“They show that Evelyn approved several transfers after receiving warnings that the transactions violated company agreements.”
I stared at her.
“So she knew?”
“The records suggest she had been notified of the restrictions.”
Mr. Brooks nodded.
“Your grandmother's company had contractual protections over several projects.”
I frowned.
“What kind of protections?”
“If Bennett Construction failed to meet certain obligations or misused project funds, Whitfield Holdings could enforce security rights and seek control of specified assets.”
I leaned back.
“So Grandma could take the projects away?”
“Potentially, through the applicable legal procedures.”
My heart tightened.
“And now those rights belong to me?”
“Some of the relevant ownership interests passed to you through the estate, subject to administration.”
I sat silently.
The money.
The companies.
The projects.
Everything felt enormous.
But one thought wouldn't leave me.
Grandma had known Marcus's family was involved in her business.
She had known Evelyn was moving money.
And she hadn't told me.
I looked at Mr. Brooks.
“Did she leave any explanation?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
He opened a drawer.