Chapter 4 - The Money Behind the Door
Tanya tried to take the photograph.
Malik pulled his phone back.
“What loan?”
“It's complicated.”
“Everything gets complicated when you don't want to answer.”
“Don't speak to me like that.”
“Then stop giving me reasons.”
People at nearby tables glanced over.
Tanya lowered her voice.
“Darrell has been talking about refinancing.”
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To consolidate things.”
“What things?”
“Our expenses.”
Malik stared.
“Our?”
Tanya caught herself.
“Mine and his.”
“What expenses does he have attached to your house?”
“He contributes.”
“To what?”
“Utilities. Repairs. Groceries.”
Malik almost laughed.
“I paid utilities.”
“Partly.”
“And groceries.”
“Sometimes.”
“And I watched him buy a seventy-inch television two weeks after moving in.”
“Malik, this isn't about Darrell's television.”
“No. It's about why a man who doesn't own your house is calculating its equity.”
Tanya's face hardened.
“He's trying to help.”
“Help you do what?”
She did not answer.
Malik leaned forward.
“How much does he owe?”
Her eyes gave him the answer before her mouth did.
He whispered, “Oh my God.”
“It isn't what you think.”
“How much?”
Tanya looked away.
“How much, Mom?”
“About forty-two thousand.”
Malik sat back.
“Forty-two thousand dollars?”
“His business struggled.”
“He told everybody the business was doing fine.”
“It was, until a contractor didn't pay him.”
“And now your house fixes that?”
“He has a plan.”
Malik rubbed his forehead.
The café suddenly felt too small.
“When did you start discussing this?”
“Two months ago.”
“Before or after he started telling you I needed to leave?”
Tanya said nothing.
Malik's pulse jumped.
“Mom.”
“Those are separate issues.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were both things on the same sheet of paper?”
“It was scrap paper.”
“Convenient.”
“Stop.”
“Did he need me gone to refinance?”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
“Because you and Darrell don't get along.”
“That's reason to throw out your son?”
“I didn't throw you out!”
Malik's eyes flashed.
“You watched.”
Tanya's mouth closed.
The truth sat between them.
After a moment, Malik asked, “Where did my four hundred a month go?”
“Household expenses.”
“You said that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then show me.”
“I don't have to.”
“Okay.”
Malik stood.
Tanya's fear became visible.
“Where are you going?”
“To work.”
“You think I'm stealing from you?”
“I think I don't know you right now.”
He left before she could answer.
At Hollis Market, Malik stocked cereal boxes for two hours without remembering where he put anything.
His supervisor, Mr. Hayes, finally approached.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
“You've put the same oatmeal in three aisles.”
Malik looked at the box in his hand.
“Sorry.”
“Take ten.”
In the employee break room, Malik checked his phone.
Seven missed calls from Tanya.
One from Renee.
Three messages.
Renee's was shortest:
Call me before you respond to your mother.
Malik called.
“What happened?”
Renee sounded tense.
“Tanya called me.”
“About the loan?”
“About your father's folder.”
“What about it?”
“She wants it tonight.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“Do you have it?”
Renee hesitated.
“Yes.”
Malik closed his eyes.
“What exactly is in there?”
“Tax returns. Old mortgage statements. Insurance paperwork.”
“Dad's life insurance?”
“Yes.”
“How much was it?”
Renee did not answer immediately.
“Renee.”
“One hundred and fifty thousand.”
Malik almost dropped the phone.
“What?”
“You were nine when he died.”
“I thought there wasn't much.”
“Your mother used a large part of it to pay down the mortgage and keep the house.”
“That makes sense.”
“It did.”
“What's the problem?”
Renee exhaled.
“Your father also left a handwritten letter with the policy documents.”
Malik went quiet.
“What letter?”
“He wrote it after he got sick.”
Malik's father, Andre Turner, had died after a sudden recurrence of lymphoma when Malik was nine.
Malik remembered hospital rooms.
Whispered conversations.
His father trying to smile when exhausted.
“What did it say?”
“It wasn't a will,” Renee said. “Nothing legally fancy.”
“Then what?”
“He told Tanya what he wanted the money to accomplish.”
“What?”
“Keep you both stable. Protect the house. And if possible, preserve enough for your education.”
Malik stared at the break-room wall.
“How much was supposed to be left?”
“He mentioned fifty thousand as a goal.”
Malik's throat tightened.
“Is it?”
“I don't know.”
“You never asked?”
“Tanya was grieving. I trusted her.”
Malik laughed bitterly.
“That seems popular in this family.”
“Don't.”
“Sorry.”
Renee lowered her voice.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The house wasn't always just Tanya's.”
Malik straightened.
“What does that mean?”
“Your father bought it with her.”
“I know.”
“After he died, ownership passed to her.”
“So?”
“So Andre's letter specifically said he hoped she'd never put another person's name on the title unless she was absolutely certain.”
Malik closed his eyes.
“Darrell wants on the deed.”
“I don't know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I suspect it.”
His phone vibrated.
A text from Tanya.
Whatever Renee told you, your father trusted me to make decisions.
Malik read it twice.
Then another arrived.
Do not let her turn you against me.
Malik showed the screen to no one.
The final message came thirty seconds later.
Darrell says the refinancing can't happen unless we resolve the title issue first.
Malik stopped breathing.
He typed one question.
What title issue?
Tanya's response took six minutes.
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When it arrived, it contained four words.
Adding Darrell to it.
