Chapter 13 - Westhaven’s First Secret
Arthur Carter had purchased Westhaven in 1998.
At the time, it housed a pharmacy downstairs and two apartments upstairs.
According to Denise, Arthur planned to renovate it.
Instead he transferred his interest to a woman named Camille Rivers.
Camille was not merely an affair partner.
She was a business associate.
The relationship lasted almost two years.
“When I found out about her,” Denise said, “Westhaven was already gone.”
“Did you fight the transfer?”
“I didn’t know I could.”
“Did Arthur give it to her?”
“He said she had invested money.”
“Had she?”
“Probably.”
Nia noticed the reluctance.
Denise had spent decades simplifying Camille into “the woman.”
Reality was usually less convenient.
“What happened to Camille?”
“She sold the building.”
“And eventually it ended up with the current seller.”
“Yes.”
“Did Marcus know this when I found the property?”
“No.”
“When did he find out?”
“When I saw your sketches.”
Nia remembered that evening.
Denise standing at the dining table.
Her fingers resting on the corner of the rendering.
You have vision.
That was the night she recognized Westhaven.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was embarrassed.”
Nia almost laughed.
Embarrassment had become the family currency.
It purchased silence.
Paid interest in lies.
Denise continued.
“I told Marcus privately. He became obsessed with buying it back.”
“So this was about Arthur.”
“Yes.”
“Again.”
Denise lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Nia stared at the woman.
Marcus had said Westhaven was for Nia.
Then he and Denise turned it into a monument to reclaiming Arthur’s legacy.
They used Nia’s money and Nia’s plans to reverse a wound Arthur had caused twenty-eight years earlier.
The symbolism was almost unbearable.
“You people built your entire lives around a dead man’s mistakes.”
Denise closed her eyes.
“I think you’re right.”
Nia left.
Instead of going back to Imani’s, she drove to Westhaven.
The building sat beneath late-afternoon light.
The front windows were dusty.
A chain secured the door.
Construction had not begun because financing had stalled.
Nia stood on the sidewalk.
She remembered discovering the property.
She had loved the proportions immediately.
Loved what it could become.
Now she wondered whether she had ever been allowed to have a dream that remained hers.
A truck pulled up behind her.
Marcus stepped out.
Nia turned.
“Are you following me?”
“No. Lauren told me you learned about Dad.”
“Of course she did.”
“I guessed you might come here.”
“That’s close enough to following.”
Marcus stayed near the curb.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to wear that phrase out.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Try facts.”
He nodded.
Nia gestured toward the building.
“When did you decide to buy it?”
“The night Mom recognized it.”
“So before the affair.”
“Yes.”
“When did you decide I didn’t need to know?”
Marcus looked at the building.
“I told myself it would be a surprise.”
Nia stared.
“A surprise?”
“At first.”
“You were going to surprise me with an LLC I didn’t own?”
“No. Originally I thought we’d acquire it and eventually transfer the project to your company.”
“What changed?”
“Financing.”
“Then tell me.”
“Mom’s old debt made the structure complicated. Carter Ridge needed the asset. The lender liked your design concept.”
“So you used my work.”
“Yes.”
“Then Lauren?”
He nodded.
“And then I was lying about so much that telling you any one thing meant telling you everything.”
Nia understood.
The lie had become load-bearing.
Remove one piece and the whole structure collapsed.
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“Because every month I thought I was one deal away from fixing it.”
“That is what gamblers say.”
“I know.”
She shot him a look.
He corrected himself.
“You’re right.”
They stood quietly.
Then Marcus said, “Lauren didn’t create the fake signature.”
Nia’s attention sharpened.
“How do you know?”
“She found the original account log.”
“What account log?”
“The project management system.”
Nia stepped closer.
“Who did it?”
Marcus’s face looked sick.
“My mother’s assistant.”
“Who?”
“Patricia Wynn.”
Nia knew Patricia.
Denise’s friend from church.
Part-time bookkeeper.
The woman who had brought pound cake to Nia’s birthday dinner.
“Why would Patricia impersonate me?”
“She says Mom told her the design approval was ‘handled’ and asked her to submit the project package.”
“That doesn’t explain the email.”
“She created it because the lender’s portal required an address for the designer.”
Nia stared.
“Did Denise tell her to?”
“Patricia says no.”
“Then Patricia created a false email and signed my name on her own?”
“She says she thought it was administrative.”
Nia laughed in disbelief.
“Administrative fraud.”
Marcus winced.
“I’m not defending it.”
“Did she know I hadn’t approved?”
“She says she assumed you had.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on Mom.”
Nia turned toward Westhaven.
Everybody’s defense led to somebody else.
Marcus blamed Lauren.
Lauren blamed incomplete information.
Patricia trusted Denise.
Denise trusted Marcus.
And Nia had trusted all of them.
“What are you going to do?” Marcus asked.
Nia looked at the chained building.
“I’m going to stop asking people who lied to me to explain what truth should look like.”
Her phone rang.
Tessa.
Nia answered.
“We’ve received Marcus’s preliminary disclosure,” Tessa said.
“And?”
“There’s an account we didn’t know about.”
Nia watched Marcus’s face.
He clearly knew what Tessa meant.
“What account?”
“A brokerage account.”
“How much?”
“Current value is approximately two hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”
Nia stared at Marcus.
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He lowered his eyes.
And once again, Westhaven became only one piece of the story.
