Chapter 12 - The Altered Agreement
Rachel refused to call it forgery without examining the originals.
“That word has legal consequences,” she warned.
Nia nodded.
“But the documents differ.”
“Yes.”
“And Keisha says she never agreed to fifteen thousand.”
“Yes.”
“Then what do we call it?”
“A discrepancy we preserve.”
Nia hated the restraint.
She also understood why it mattered.
Facts first.
Labels later.
Keisha met them at Rachel’s office carrying her original packet.
The formatting matched Andre’s copy except for one page.
Page four.
Capital contributions.
Keisha’s version:
Andre Wells — $12,000.
Keisha Benton — $3,000.
Andre’s version:
Andre Wells — $25,000.
Keisha Benton — $15,000.
Both contained signatures on page seven.
Rachel examined the staple marks.
“These were assembled separately.”
Keisha looked sick.
“He told me the paperwork was standard.”
Rachel asked, “Did you sign electronically?”
“No. He brought it to my apartment.”
“Did you initial every page?”
“No.”
Rachel nodded.
“That makes replacement easier, though again, we need evidence of what happened.”
Nia looked at Keisha.
“Why would he increase both contributions on his version?”
Rachel answered carefully.
“To make the company appear better capitalized, possibly. Or because he intended future contributions. We cannot assume.”
Keisha whispered, “He showed this to the lender.”
“What lender?” Nia asked.
Keisha opened her phone.
“He sent me an email saying the bank wanted proof of equity.”
Nia felt her pulse jump.
“What bank?”
“Piedmont Community.”
Rachel took notes.
“Do not contact them yet.”
Nia nodded.
Keisha stared at the papers.
“If he used my signature with different terms…”
Rachel interrupted gently.
“Let’s establish exactly what was submitted before drawing conclusions.”
Keisha’s eyes filled with anger.
“All this time I thought Nia was the problem.”
Nia looked at her.
“And I thought you were the secret.”
Neither woman smiled.
Because neither statement was funny.
Andre himself was the system connecting every deception.
That evening, he requested a conversation.
Nia agreed to meet at the house with the kitchen security camera disabled—not because she wanted secrecy, but because she did not want an intimate marital conversation stored automatically in the cloud.
Andre arrived carrying flowers.
Nia stared at them.
He immediately realized the mistake.
“Seriously?” she asked.
“They’re for you.”
“After Bellmont?”
He placed them down.
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s becoming expensive.”
Andre sat.
“I want to fix this.”
“Start with the operating agreement.”
His face changed.
“What about it?”
“Why are there two versions?”
Andre became very still.
Nia watched the reaction.
“You talked to a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“And Keisha.”
“Yes.”
“You’re building a case against me.”
“I’m building a timeline.”
He stood.
“This has gone too far.”
“No. It went too far before I knew about it.”
“Nia, I never forged anything.”
She had not used that word.
The room went silent.
Andre realized it.
So did she.
Nia spoke slowly.
“I said there were two versions.”
His mouth tightened.
“I know what you’re implying.”
“I didn’t imply anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Then explain.”
Andre began pacing.
“The first agreement was preliminary. We revised the contributions later.”
“Did Keisha agree?”
“She knew more capital would be required.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“She knew.”
“Did she sign the revised version?”
Andre looked away.
Nia’s voice lowered.
“Did she sign page four?”
“The signature page applies to the agreement.”
“Which agreement?”
“Nia.”
“Which agreement?”
He turned sharply.
“I handled the paperwork badly.”
There it was.
Another vague phrase replacing an action.
“How badly?”
“I reused the signature page.”
Nia stared.
“Without telling her?”
“I was going to get updated signatures.”
“When?”
“Before closing.”
“But you showed the higher contribution version to someone.”
Andre’s eyes flickered.
That was enough.
“Who?”
“No one important.”
“Bank?”
Silence.
“Investor?”
Silence.
“Title company?”
Andre sat down.
Nia felt strangely calm.
“How many documents have my name on them that I never saw?”
His eyes met hers.
“None.”
She did not believe him.
Andre seemed to recognize that.
“Nia, I swear.”
“You’ve used that phrase before.”
“When?”
“Every time I asked if we were financially okay.”
His face collapsed slightly.
For the first time, shame—not panic—appeared.
“I thought I could fix everything before you ever knew.”
Nia whispered, “That may be the worst thing you’ve said.”
“Why?”
“Because you still think the problem is that I found out.”
Andre lowered his head.
His phone rang.
He ignored it.
Then again.
Finally he looked.
His face drained.
“Who is it?” Nia asked.
Andre stood immediately.
“I have to go.”
“What happened?”
He grabbed his keys.
“The duplex.”
“What about it?”
Andre looked at her.
“The seller is terminating.”
Nia blinked.
“Why?”
He swallowed.
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“Because the earnest-money verification failed.”
And Nia realized the twelve thousand dollars might not be the only money in danger.
