Chapter 7 - The Missing Key
Eight months earlier, Nia had searched every drawer in the kitchen for the Westhaven key.
She needed it for a final walkthrough before submitting an informal concept to the seller.
Marcus had leaned against the counter eating an apple.
“You probably left it at the office.”
“I didn’t.”
“You lose keys.”
“I have never lost a client key.”
He smiled.
“You lose everything that isn’t attached to you.”
She had thrown a dish towel at him.
They laughed.
That memory now felt contaminated.
Nia stared at the brass key on Imani’s table.
“When did you take it?”
Marcus remained by the door.
“I borrowed it.”
“When?”
“October.”
“Why?”
“To show Mom the building.”
“Without asking me?”
“I was going to put it back.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I forgot.”
Nia looked at him.
“You didn’t forget.”
Marcus said nothing.
“You were already planning to buy it.”
“We were considering it.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Me and Mom.”
“And Lauren?”
“She wasn’t involved personally then.”
Nia gave him a look.
“I’m not asking when you started sleeping with her. I’m asking when she joined the deal.”
“September.”
Before Marcus took the key.
Nia nodded.
“So the three of you walked through the building using my access.”
Marcus sighed.
“That sounds worse than—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
He stopped.
Nia picked up the key.
Cold brass.
Tiny object.
Massive meaning.
“You should go.”
Marcus opened the door.
Then turned.
“I’m sorry.”
Nia did not respond.
After he left, Imani came downstairs.
“How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
“You were listening?”
“This is my house. I was aggressively existing near the staircase.”
Despite everything, Nia laughed.
It startled her.
Then she covered her mouth and started crying.
Imani crossed the room.
This time Nia allowed the hug.
“I feel stupid.”
“No.”
“I missed three years.”
“You trusted your husband.”
“I signed tax returns.”
“That doesn’t mean you knew every internal transfer in a company you weren’t told existed.”
“I should have looked.”
Imani pulled back.
“Do not turn their dishonesty into your incompetence.”
The sentence settled somewhere deep.
The next morning, Tessa arranged a meeting with forensic accountant Aaron Mitchell.
Aaron was soft-spoken and methodical.
He did not care about the affair except where it intersected with assets.
That was strangely comforting.
He reviewed the documents Nia had provided.
“We’re not going to make accusations before we trace the money.”
“Okay.”
“I want three years of statements from all joint accounts you are authorized to access, tax returns, your design-business records, and any documents Marcus has voluntarily sent.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Patterns.”
Two days later, Aaron called.
He found one.
Marcus had not simply removed large amounts.
He had made repeated transfers between personal accounts, business accounts and Carter Ridge Construction.
Most were small enough to look like ordinary expenses.
$4,500.
$7,200.
$3,800.
Then deposits often appeared weeks later.
“Was he stealing?” Nia asked.
“I wouldn’t use that word yet.”
“What word would you use?”
“Commingling.”
Nia waited.
Aaron continued.
“It appears he treated household liquidity as a temporary financing source for the family company.”
“Without telling me.”
“That’s the relational issue. Financially, we need to determine ownership, repayment and whether any money remains outstanding.”
“How much?”
“From what I can document so far, roughly forty-four thousand remains unreimbursed, excluding Westhaven.”
Nia closed her eyes.
“And Westhaven?”
“Forty-eight thousand four hundred, assuming the partial return is correctly characterized.”
Almost ninety-three thousand dollars.
The same figure Marcus had admitted.
Aaron added, “There’s another issue.”
Nia almost laughed at the predictability.
“What?”
“Your design company.”
Her chest tightened.
“What about it?”
“Carter Ridge Construction paid your company twice.”
Nia frowned.
“No, they didn’t.”
“I have two transfers totaling eighteen thousand dollars.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Check your books.”
Nia did.
The deposits were there.
But they had arrived under a generic project code through Marcus’s development consultancy.
She had believed the money came from legitimate referral work he subcontracted to her.
“What were the payments for?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
Nia opened her old invoices.
Two jobs.
Both described as consultation retainers.
She remembered asking Marcus what client they were for.
He had said confidential pre-development work.
Nia’s skin prickled.
Her company had unknowingly received money from Carter Ridge.
Why?
Aaron asked, “Did you ever perform work for a project called Briar Commons?”
Nia froze.
“Yes.”
“Who hired you?”
“Marcus.”
“How much did you charge?”
“Eighteen thousand.”
Aaron went quiet.
Nia’s stomach turned.
“What?”
“The money paid to your company came from a line of credit.”
“Whose?”
“Denise Carter’s.”
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Nia stared at the spreadsheet.
Then Aaron said, “And Briar Commons doesn’t appear to exist.”
