Chapter 11 - Darius Cole
Darius Cole agreed to meet Nia because she did not accuse him of anything.
She called his office and said she was Andre Wells’s wife and needed clarity about a proposed investment involving marital funds.
That phrase got his attention.
They met in the lobby of one of his fitness centers.
Darius was forty, compact, controlled, and visibly uncomfortable.
“I want to start by saying I never met you before today.”
“I know.”
“Andre told me you supported the project.”
Nia nodded slowly.
“How did he describe my support?”
“That you two had equity available and wanted to diversify.”
“Did he say I was investing?”
“He said the capital would come from household assets.”
Nia’s stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“Originally fifty thousand.”
Nia stared.
Darius continued.
“Then he said possibly seventy-five.”
“When?”
“Late spring.”
“Did you receive money?”
“No.”
“Sign anything?”
“No final operating agreement. We had a draft.”
“Can I see it?”
“I need to check with counsel before sharing documents.”
“Understood.”
Darius studied her.
“You genuinely didn’t know?”
“No.”
He leaned back.
“That’s a problem.”
“Yes.”
“I told Andre I wouldn’t accept funds until his financing was clean.”
“What does that mean?”
“I needed proof he could invest without creating ownership disputes.”
Nia almost smiled at the irony.
“So you were more worried about my ownership than he was.”
Darius did not smile.
“I’ve been through business litigation. I don’t take money casually.”
“Did Andre tell you we were divorcing?”
Darius paused.
“He said your finances might eventually be separated.”
Nia felt the now-familiar coldness.
“What exact words?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Try.”
Darius exhaled.
“He said, ‘By the time we close, Nia won’t be attached to the money.’”
Nia closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
Darius leaned forward.
“I need you to understand something. There is no active deal now.”
“What happened?”
“He couldn’t produce capital.”
“When?”
“August.”
The same month Andre initiated the preliminary refinance inquiry.
Nia connected the sequence.
The gym deal stalled.
Andre explored refinancing.
The duplex moved forward.
He needed somewhere to place the money if the gym failed.
Or perhaps both opportunities existed simultaneously.
“Did he owe you money?”
“No.”
“Any deposits?”
“Just four thousand for preliminary architectural and consulting work.”
Nia’s head snapped up.
“He paid you?”
“My company received four thousand months ago.”
“From what account?”
Darius checked a record on his phone.
“Wells Family Ventures.”
Nia wrote it down.
Another piece.
“Was it refundable?”
“No. Work was completed.”
“Can you send me the invoice?”
“With Andre’s permission or through counsel.”
“Fair.”
Nia stood.
Darius stopped her.
“Mrs. Wells.”
She turned.
“I’m not defending him.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“But Andre talked about that gym like it was oxygen.”
Nia said nothing.
“He believed if he could get it open, everything else would make sense.”
Nia looked at the training floor.
Children were running drills.
Parents watched from benches.
For one dangerous second, she saw Andre’s dream the way he saw it.
A place carrying his name.
Malik growing up inside it.
Proof that he had built what his father abandoned.
Then she remembered Maya’s returned shoes.
Dreams did not become ethical simply because they were meaningful.
“He could have asked me,” Nia said.
Darius nodded.
“Yes.”
That was all.
At work later, Nia received an email from Rachel.
We should meet. There’s an issue with the operating agreement you sent.
Nia called immediately.
“What issue?”
Rachel answered.
“AKM Holdings lists an initial capital contribution from Andre of twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Nia frowned.
“He didn’t put in twenty-five.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I traced twelve thousand earnest money and about eight or nine thousand in other transfers.”
“There may be more.”
“Where?”
“That’s what we need to find.”
Nia opened the operating agreement.
Rachel continued.
“There’s another clause.”
Nia found it.
If one member failed to fund the required contribution, the other member could advance the balance as a member loan.
Keisha had contributed three thousand.
Andre supposedly twenty-five.
Nia’s heart accelerated.
“Was Keisha supposed to contribute more?”
“According to this document, fifteen thousand.”
Nia called Keisha.
“Did you know you were supposed to put fifteen thousand into AKM?”
“What?”
Nia read the clause.
Keisha sounded horrified.
“I never agreed to that.”
“Did you sign this version?”
“I signed papers.”
“Do you have the copy you signed?”
A pause.
“I think so.”
Twenty minutes later, Keisha sent photos.
The agreement she signed was different.
Her required contribution was three thousand.
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Someone had replaced the page.
And the signature packet Andre kept in his records contained Keisha’s genuine signature attached to terms she had never agreed to.
