Chapter 20 - Before the Truth Breaks
Denise spent two weeks reviewing Ridgeway.
The more she found, the worse it looked.
Terrence had collected $146,000 from six investors.
Only one property had actually been purchased.
Invoices listed contractors who did not exist.
Funds had moved to an LLC belonging to Terrence’s brother.
Marcus sat at the dining table while Denise explained the findings over video.
Jordan listened from the couch.
“Could he go to jail?” Jordan asked.
Denise answered carefully.
“That depends on what investigators determine. We have evidence suggesting potential fraud. We do not decide criminal charges.”
Marcus nodded.
“What do we do?”
“Provide records to the appropriate authorities and the civil attorney already representing several investors.”
Marcus exhaled slowly.
Months earlier, he would have avoided this.
Now he said, “Do it.”
Jordan looked over.
Marcus noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That face is something.”
Jordan smiled faintly.
“You used to hate paperwork.”
“I still hate paperwork.”
Denise laughed.
“Character development.”
After the call, Marcus gathered documents into a box.
Jordan helped.
They found old bank statements, emails, and property brochures.
Near the bottom was a photograph.
Marcus and Terrence at sixteen.
Basketball uniforms.
Jordan picked it up.
“You played together?”
Marcus nodded.
“Point guard and shooting guard.”
“Who was better?”
“Me.”
Jordan laughed.
“Of course.”
Marcus looked at the photo.
“Terrence was my best friend.”
Jordan’s smile faded.
“You trusted him.”
“Yes.”
Jordan set the photograph down.
“That why you ignored red flags?”
Marcus thought.
“Partly.”
“What else?”
“I wanted the money to work.”
“Why?”
Marcus glanced around the house.
“I thought if I made enough fast enough, everything would stop feeling fragile.”
Jordan understood.
The divorce.
Mortgage.
Keisha.
Jordan’s basketball.
Fear of having nothing.
“You wanted security.”
Marcus nodded.
“I gambled stability trying to buy security.”
Jordan looked at him.
“That’s dumb.”
Marcus laughed.
“Extremely.”
For once, neither needed to soften the truth.
That afternoon, Coach Reed called.
“Come to the gym.”
Jordan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
When Jordan arrived, Coach Reed stood at center court.
Beside him was Renee Collins from Carolina State.
Jordan stopped.
His heartbeat exploded.
Collins smiled.
“Hello again.”
Jordan looked at Reed.
“You could’ve warned me.”
“No fun.”
Collins held a folder.
“We’ve completed our evaluation.”
Jordan’s mouth went dry.
“We’d like to offer you an athletic scholarship.”
Jordan stared.
The words seemed too large for the gym.
Coach Reed smiled.
Jordan looked toward the bleachers automatically.
The habit happened before thought.
One seat.
Empty.
His chest tightened.
Then the side door opened.
Marcus stepped inside.
He was out of breath.
“Sorry.”
Jordan stared.
Coach Reed raised an eyebrow.
Marcus looked at his watch.
“I’m three minutes late.”
Jordan laughed.
It burst out unexpectedly.
Collins looked between them.
“Should I continue?”
“Yes,” Jordan said quickly.
She explained the offer.
Tuition.
Athletic aid.
Academic requirements.
No pressure to commit immediately.
Jordan listened.
Marcus sat quietly.
Alicia joined by video call.
When Collins finished, Jordan looked stunned.
“You don’t need an answer today,” she said.
Jordan nodded.
“Thank you.”
After she left, Coach Reed hugged Jordan.
Marcus waited.
Jordan turned toward him.
Marcus’s eyes were wet.
“I’m proud of you.”
Jordan looked at the bleachers.
“You almost missed it.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
Jordan smiled faintly.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Marcus swallowed.
“I didn’t.”
Jordan hugged him.
It lasted only a few seconds.
But it was the first time since the championship.
Marcus held on carefully.
Not desperately.
Not like forgiveness could be forced through pressure.
Jordan stepped back.
Coach Reed pretended to study his clipboard.
“You crying, Coach?” Jordan asked.
“Dust.”
“Indoor gym.”
“Unusual dust.”
They laughed.
That evening, Jordan placed the scholarship folder beside the championship trophy.
He still had not committed.
He wanted to visit another school.
He wanted the choice to be his.
Marcus supported that.
At 9:30 p.m., the doorbell rang.
A courier handed Marcus an envelope.
Inside was a notice.
Terrence Cole had filed a civil claim alleging Marcus owed him $41,000 connected to Ridgeway.
Attached as evidence was the disputed personal guarantee.
Marcus stared at the signature.
Jordan stood beside him.
“That’s not yours?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
Marcus looked at his son.
“Yes.”
Jordan studied his face.
Months ago, certainty from Marcus would not have meant much.
Now Jordan believed him.
Marcus looked at the lawsuit.
For once, fear did not make him hide.
He handed the document to Jordan.
“What do you think?”
Jordan blinked.
“You’re asking me?”
“Not what I should do.”
Marcus nodded toward the paper.
“What do you see?”
Jordan examined the signature.
Then noticed the date.
His eyes narrowed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“This says you signed it March nineteenth.”
“Yes.”
Jordan looked up.
“You were at my tournament in Richmond that weekend.”
Marcus stared.
Jordan opened his phone.
“I have pictures.”
A slow realization crossed Marcus’s face.
The thing he once treated as an expensive basketball trip might now prove he could not have signed Terrence’s document in person.
Jordan found the photograph.
March 19.
2:11 p.m.
Marcus stood beside him inside a Richmond gym.
The alleged guarantee had been notarized across the state at 1:45 p.m.
Marcus stared.
Jordan looked at him.
“Basketball finally paid you back.”
Marcus began laughing.
Jordan joined him.
The photograph did not end the lawsuit.
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But it cracked Terrence’s story.
And for the first time, an old memory of Marcus showing up became evidence instead of pain.
