Chapter 5 - The Screenshot
Marcus Greene sent the emails at 1:08 p.m.
Nia opened them at the dining-room table.
Her mother sat across from her.
The first message appeared to come from Nia’s old personal Gmail account.
Mr. Greene—
I’m interested in investing in a local athletic training business. Could $35,000 be released if I sign something confirming the investment is for career development?
Nia shook her head.
“I would never write like that.”
The second email was worse.
I need to know my rights because my mother controls everything and uses my father’s money to keep me dependent. I’m eighteen now and I need someone to explain how to access what belongs to me without her interfering.
Ms. Bennett read it twice.
Then she pushed the laptop away.
“That boy has sat at my table.”
Nia said nothing.
“I fed him.”
“Mom.”
“He called me Ms. B.”
“I know.”
“He asked me about your father.”
Nia looked up.
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“What did he ask?”
“Whether your father intended the trust for college only.”
Nia’s pulse increased.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Marcus Greene handled it and it wasn’t his concern.”
Her mother’s face tightened with self-reproach.
“I should have questioned why he was asking.”
“You had no reason.”
“We always have reasons after something happens.”
Nia understood that feeling.
Every memory had become evidence.
Every strange pause.
Every unexplained question.
Every time Malik had complained that Hawthorne was too far away.
Every time Jasmine had joked that Nia would become “too fancy” for them.
Nia opened her cloud account.
The login history showed unfamiliar access.
Two sessions had originated from devices she did not recognize.
One from Malik’s neighborhood.
One from Jasmine’s apartment complex.
Nia stared at the screen.
“Mom.”
Ms. Bennett came around the table.
Nia opened her photos.
Last summer, she had photographed a trust statement to send to Mr. Greene after noticing her address was outdated.
She searched.
The picture remained.
But when she opened its metadata, she saw that it had been shared once through a temporary link.
“I never shared this.”
Her mother whispered, “Can you see who did?”
“No.”
Nia called Jasmine again.
This time Jasmine did not answer.
Nia called once more.
Voicemail.
She texted one sentence.
I know someone accessed my cloud account from your building.
Jasmine called within thirty seconds.
“Nia.”
“Who used my account at your apartment?”
Silence.
“Tell me.”
“Malik.”
“When?”
“March.”
Nia closed her eyes.
“Why?”
“He said he needed a picture you had taken.”
“The trust statement.”
“I didn’t know what picture.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
“How did he log in?”
Jasmine began crying.
“I had your password.”
Nia went still.
“How?”
“You gave it to me last year when I helped upload your scholarship video.”
Nia remembered.
She had changed passwords afterward.
Or thought she had.
“You wrote it down?”
“I saved it.”
“For a year?”
“I forgot.”
“But Malik didn’t.”
“No.”
Nia pressed a hand against her forehead.
“What else did he do from your apartment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t!”
Jasmine raised her voice for the first time.
“I didn’t sit there making some plan with him to steal your money!”
Nia snapped back.
“But you kept letting him into my life!”
Jasmine fell silent.
Nia continued.
“You gave him access to my account.”
“He already knew you.”
“That is not permission.”
“I know.”
“You let him use your place while he was cheating with you.”
“I know.”
“You knew he was obsessed with whether I stayed home.”
“I know.”
“You knew he was asking about my trust.”
Jasmine started sobbing.
“I know!”
Nia closed her eyes.
The anger exhausted her.
“What did you mean last night?”
“What?”
“You said there was something else.”
Jasmine became quiet.
Nia waited.
Finally Jasmine said, “Malik asked me to take a picture.”
“Of what?”
“Your mother’s filing cabinet.”
Nia looked toward the home office.
“When?”
“January.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to know where she kept your dad’s papers.”
Ms. Bennett, listening nearby, went rigid.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I took a picture of the office because he asked where the cabinet was.”
Nia nearly dropped the phone.
“That is taking a picture.”
“I didn’t open anything.”
“But you showed him where to look.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever come here alone?”
Another silence.
Nia’s skin prickled.
“Jasmine.”
“One afternoon.”
“When?”
“The day of your regional debate tournament.”
Nia remembered.
Her mother had been working late.
Jasmine had supposedly come by to borrow a dress.
Malik had texted Nia during the tournament saying he was at practice.
“Why was he here?”
“He said he left his charger.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“How long was he inside?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
Nia turned toward the staircase.
Twenty minutes.
Alone.
In the house.
Her eyes went to her mother.
“Dad’s papers.”
Ms. Bennett understood instantly.
They hurried toward the office.
The filing cabinet was locked.
Ms. Bennett retrieved the key.
Inside were tax documents, insurance papers, property records, and the original trust agreement.
At first nothing appeared disturbed.
Then Nia noticed an empty plastic sleeve.
A label remained inside.
BENNETT EDUCATION TRUST — AMENDMENT / ACCOUNT INFORMATION.
“Mom.”
Ms. Bennett stared.
“What was in there?”
“A statement from last year.”
“The one with the account number?”
“Yes.”
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Nia felt sick.
Her mother whispered, “It’s gone.”
