Chapter 8: The Price of Staying
Marcus stood up so abruptly that his chair scraped backward across the kitchen floor.
“I'm going outside.””
“No,” I said.
He stopped.
“You don't get to walk away this time.””
His shoulders stiffened.
“Aaliyah, I need a moment.””
“You've had twenty years of moments.””
My voice shook, but I refused to lower it.
“Robert says he paid someone to protect us. He says that person promised to tell me the truth when I turned eighteen. Did he pay you?””
Marcus stared at me.
My mother whispered his name.
He didn't look at her.
“Yes,” he said.
The word seemed to drain the air from the room.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“How much?””
“Twenty thousand dollars.””
I stared at him.
He continued before I could speak.
“Robert came to me after your surgery. He said he knew he had made mistakes. He said he wanted to make sure you had everything you needed, but he couldn't come back because he was ashamed of what he had done.””
“And you took his money?””
Marcus's face tightened.
“I refused at first.””
“But you took it.””
“Yes.””
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“Why?””
“Because the hospital bills were still coming. Your mother was working two jobs. Your grandmother was helping whenever she could. I had taken out a loan, and I was struggling to make the payments.””
He swallowed.
“Robert said the money was for you. He asked me to use it for your medical care and education.””
“And what did you promise him?””
Marcus looked down.
“He asked me to tell you, when you turned eighteen, that he had tried to help you.””
I laughed bitterly.
“So you were paid to keep his secret?””
“No. I was paid to make sure you were provided for.””
“You keep changing the words, Marcus. It doesn't change what happened.””
He flinched.
I had called him Daddy for twenty years.
Now I couldn't bring myself to call him anything.
My mother rose from her chair.
“Marcus didn't keep the money for himself. He used it to pay your hospital bills.””
“That isn't the point!””
My voice broke.
“The point is that everyone made decisions about my life without asking me. Robert decided he couldn't be my father. Marcus decided he could be my father but couldn't tell me the truth. You decided I was too fragile to know any of it.””
I pressed both hands against my chest.
“Was there ever a moment when somebody in this family thought I deserved the truth?””
Marcus's eyes filled with tears.
“I thought about telling you every day.””
“But you didn't.””
“No.””
“Why?””
He looked at me.
“Because the longer I waited, the harder it became. At first, I thought you were too young. Then you started school.
Then you were a teenager, and I was afraid the truth would destroy the life you had built. By the time you were eighteen, I had become the person you called when you needed help.””
He paused.
“I was afraid that if I told you, you would think every good thing I had done was a lie.””
I stared at him.
“Was it?””
“No.””
“Then why should the truth have destroyed it?””
Marcus had no answer.
I looked at my mother.
“Did you know about the money?””
She nodded slowly.
“Your grandmother told me after Robert disappeared. She said he had paid Marcus to make sure you were cared for.””
“And you let me believe Robert had never tried to help?””
“I thought the money was the only decent thing he had done. I didn't want you to believe he was a good father because he sent money once.””
“Did you ever think I could make that decision myself?””
Denise began to cry.
“I was afraid you would spend your whole life waiting for him.””
I looked away.
“Instead, I spent my whole life wondering why he didn't want me.””
Nobody spoke.
My phone vibrated again.
Robert had sent an email.
The subject line read: *WHAT I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU YEARS AGO.*
I opened it.
There were several attachments: bank statements, copies of letters, and a scanned document bearing my grandmother's signature.
The first attachment showed the original transfer of $18,400.
The second showed a payment of $20,000 to Marcus.
The third was a letter dated five years later.
Robert,
I have received the money you sent for Aaliyah. Marcus has used it for her medical expenses and education. She is safe, loved, and doing well.
You need to stop blaming everyone else for the choices you made. If you want to be her father, come home and act like one.
Money cannot replace your presence.
The letter was signed by my grandmother.
I read it twice.
Then I opened the final attachment.
It was a bank transfer dated six months ago.
Robert had sent $30,000 to an account belonging to a company I didn't recognize.
The recipient's name was listed as *Carter Family Holdings*.
My eyes narrowed.
“Marcus, what is Carter Family Holdings?””
He leaned over the table.
The moment he saw the name, he went completely still.
“I don't know.””
“It's your last name.””
“It isn't mine. My name is Marcus Bennett.””
I looked at the account details.
The company had been registered in my name.
Aaliyah Rose Carter.
My hands began to shake.
“Why is there a company registered to me?””
Marcus leaned closer to the screen.
“Open the next attachment.””
I clicked it.
A legal document appeared, dated six months earlier. It was a transfer of ownership for a small commercial property in Ohio.
The buyer was Carter Family Holdings.
The seller was Robert Carter.
The purchase price was listed as one dollar.
I stared at the screen.
“What does this mean?””
Marcus's expression hardened.
“It means Robert transferred a property to a company registered in your name.””
“Why would he do that?””
“I don't know.””
My mother leaned over my shoulder.
When she saw the document, she covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.””
I turned toward her.
“What?””
She shook her head.
“Your grandmother owned a property in Ohio. She left it to you in her will.””
I stared at her.
“What property?””
“A small building she bought years ago. It had a few apartments above a storefront. She left it to you because she wanted you to have something of your own.””
“Did I ever receive it?””
Denise shook her head.
“No. Robert told me the building had been sold to pay your medical expenses.””
I felt dizzy.
“Was that true?””
“I don't know.””
Marcus picked up the phone and called a number printed on the document.
He put it on speaker.
A woman answered.
“Carter Family Holdings. How may I help you?””
Marcus identified himself and asked about the property.
The woman paused.
“I'm sorry. I can't discuss the company's records with you.””
“I'm calling on behalf of the owner, Aaliyah Rose Carter.””
“Then Ms. Carter will need to verify her identity and speak with our attorney.””
“Who registered the company?””
Another pause.
“The registration was filed by Robert Carter.””
I felt my blood run cold.
“Why was it registered in my name?””
“I'm not authorized to discuss that.””
“Did I sign anything?””
The woman hesitated.
“According to the records, the registration was completed using a power of attorney.””
I stared at the screen.
“A power of attorney signed by whom?””
“By Ms. Aaliyah Carter.””
My heart pounded.
“I never signed a power of attorney.””
The woman fell silent.
Marcus leaned toward the phone.
“Then someone used her identity without her permission.””
“Sir, I can't make that determination. You will need to contact our legal department.””
The call ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then I looked at Robert's email again.
He had sent me the documents.
He had exposed himself.
Why?
My phone rang.
I answered.
“Why did you register a company in my name?””
Robert's voice was strained.
“I was trying to protect what belonged to you.””
“By using my identity?””
“I was going to explain everything at the wedding.””
“Why didn't you explain it when you called me three weeks ago?””
“Because I needed to know whether I could trust you.””
I laughed in disbelief.
“You needed to know whether you could trust me?””
“You don't understand how complicated this is.””
“Then explain it.””
He exhaled sharply.
“Your grandmother left you the building. It was supposed to be yours when you turned twenty-five. But the property had debts, and I was trying to clear them.””
“Why did you sell it for one dollar?””
“I didn't sell it. I transferred it.””
“To a company in my name that I never authorized?””
He said nothing.
I looked at Marcus.
He had begun reading the documents again, his expression growing darker.
“Robert, did you take the thirty thousand dollars from the insurance policy?””
“No.””
“Did you cancel the policy?””
“Your mother handled the paperwork.””
“Stop blaming my mother!””
My voice rang through the kitchen.
“Did you cancel it?””
He hesitated.
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because I needed money.””
The honesty of the answer stunned me.
“For what?””
He was silent.
Then he whispered, “To keep the building from being seized.””
I closed my eyes.
“You used the money meant to protect me to protect a building I didn't even know I owned.””
“I was trying to save your inheritance.””
“You were trying to save yourself.””
He didn't answer.
I ended the call.
Marcus took the phone from my hand and set it on the table.
“I'll help you find out what happened.””
I looked at him.
“Why should I trust you?””
He nodded slowly.
“You shouldn't have to trust me because I say the right things. You should be able to see what I do next.””
For the first time that afternoon, I believed him.
Not because he had suddenly become innocent.
But because he wasn't asking me to forget what he had done.
My mother reached for the wedding invitation lying beside the documents.
“Aaliyah, the ceremony is supposed to begin in twenty minutes.””
I stared at the invitation.
The venue.
The flowers.
The guests waiting for me.
The man who had raised me.
The man who had abandoned me.
And the truth that seemed to grow darker every time I uncovered another piece of it.
“I can't walk down that aisle pretending everything is fine,” I whispered.
Marcus nodded.
“Then don't pretend.””
I looked at him.
“What am I supposed to do?””
He took a breath.
“Tell the truth.””
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of the original deed to my grandmother's property.
At the bottom was a signature.
Mine.
But I had never signed it.
May you like
Beneath the photograph were eight words.
*Ask your father who forged your signature.*
