Chapter 2 - The Signature
Renee did not speak until they had driven three blocks.
Jada sat rigidly in the passenger seat, her acceptance letter pressed against her thighs.
Streetlights swept across her face in alternating bands of gold and darkness.
Renee gripped the steering wheel.
“Did she tell you anything before tonight?”
“No.”
“Any withdrawals?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything?”
Jada turned.
“What would I sign?”
“I don’t know.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It shouldn’t.”
Renee pulled into the parking lot of a closed pharmacy and shut off the engine.
The sudden silence was heavy.
“Your grandfather didn’t just open a savings account.”
Jada stared at her aunt.
“What?”
“He created a trust.”
“I know that.”
“No. You know the name.”
Renee rubbed both hands over her face.
“You don’t know how it worked.”
Jada’s pulse quickened.
“Then tell me.”
Renee hesitated.
That hesitation felt like another betrayal.
“Aunt Renee.”
“Your grandfather created the Isaiah Williams Education Trust when you were nine. He put eighty thousand dollars into it originally. It grew from there.”
“I remember.”
“Your mother was trustee.”
“I know.”
“I was oversight trustee.”
Jada frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It meant Tamika could pay ordinary education expenses once you started school. Tuition, housing, books. But anything before enrollment over five thousand dollars required my written approval.”
Jada’s skin went cold.
“So she couldn’t legally take it?”
“Not without my signature.”
Jada remembered the paper falling from the blue folder.
“Turn around.”
Renee looked at her.
“What?”
“Turn the car around.”
They returned to the Williams house six minutes later.
Darrell’s SUV was gone.
Tamika stood in the kitchen alone.
The cake remained untouched.
The blue folder had been moved from the floor to the table.
Renee entered first.
“Where is he?”
Tamika wiped her face.
“He needed space.”
Renee gave a bitter laugh.
“He needed space?”
“Please.”
“No, you please.”
Jada walked straight to the folder.
Tamika moved forward.
“Jada—”
“Don’t.”
She opened it.
Bank summaries.
Trust documents.
A promissory note.
And a document titled CO-TRUSTEE CONSENT FOR EXTRAORDINARY DISTRIBUTION.
At the bottom was Renee’s name.
The signature looked convincing.
Renee stared at it.
“Oh, hell no.”
Tamika closed her eyes.
Jada looked at her mother.
“You forged her signature?”
“It wasn’t supposed to matter.”
Renee slammed her palm against the table.
“My name is on a legal document!”
“Darrell said—”
“Darrell said?”
Renee stepped closer.
“You are forty-three years old. Stop saying his name like he’s your parole officer.”
Tamika’s face hardened.
“You have always judged me.”
“I’m judging what you did.”
“You don’t know what it was like.”
“What was like?”
“Watching somebody you love drown while you have the ability to help them.”
Jada laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You mean Darrell.”
Tamika looked at her.
“Yes.”
“And when I drown?”
Tamika’s face crumpled.
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re smarter than all of us.”
Jada stared.
There it was.
The reasoning.
The poison hidden inside praise.
“You thought I could survive it.”
“I thought you would have options.”
“So you picked me because I could take the hit.”
“That is not what I’m saying.”
“It’s exactly what you’re saying.”
Renee lifted the consent form.
“Who signed my name?”
Tamika looked down.
“Me.”
Jada felt something inside her separate cleanly from the woman across the table.
Not love.
Love remained.
That was what made it unbearable.
Trust separated from love.
And once it did, she could finally see them as different things.
“Did Darrell know?”
Renee asked.
Tamika hesitated.
Renee laughed again.
“Of course he knew.”
“He said the bank would never check.”
“The bank didn’t know it was forged.”
“It was a temporary loan.”
Renee picked up the promissory note.
“Forty thousand.”
She flipped the page.
Then another.
Her expression sharpened.
“Wait.”
“What?” Jada asked.
Renee read silently.
“Tamika, where is the rest?”
Tamika froze.
Jada stepped closer.
“The rest of what?”
Renee placed the promissory note beside the account statement.
“This note says King Home Solutions borrowed forty thousand.”
Jada looked at the laptop balance.
“There was ninety-four thousand.”
“Yes.”
Tamika sat down.
Jada’s breathing changed.
“Mom.”
No answer.
“Where is the other fifty-two thousand?”
“It went into the company.”
“How?”
“Different expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“Payroll. Materials. Taxes.”
Renee’s head lifted.
“His taxes?”
Tamika did not answer.
Renee turned toward Jada.
“We need every statement.”
Tamika stood again.
“You’re not taking anything out of this house.”
Renee stared at her sister.
“You forged my signature on a trust document.”
“I said I’m going to fix it.”
“No. You said Darrell was going to fix it.”
“He will.”
Renee leaned closer.
“Where is he?”
Tamika said nothing.
Jada looked at the empty chair where Darrell had been sitting.
His gold watch had flashed under the warm kitchen light while her future disappeared from a computer screen.
Something about that memory bothered her.
Not the watch.
His calmness.
He had not been surprised.
Not even frightened.
He had known exactly what she would see.
Jada pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?” Tamika asked.
“Taking pictures.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
She photographed the forged consent.
The promissory note.
The invoice.
The bank statement.
Tamika reached for the folder.
Jada pulled it away.
“Don’t touch it.”
“Jada, I am still your mother.”
Jada met her eyes.
“And I’m the beneficiary of the trust you emptied.”
Tamika’s hand dropped.
Renee opened another document.
Her expression changed again.
“What now?” Jada asked.
Renee turned the paper around.
It was a business loan application from First Federal Commercial Bank.
Under the heading SOURCE OF CAPITAL appeared one sentence.
PERSONAL FAMILY INVESTMENT — $92,000.
Jada read it twice.
“That’s not a loan.”
Renee looked at Tamika.
“No.”
Jada slowly raised her eyes to her mother.
“You didn’t lend him my money.”
Tamika began to cry again.
Jada’s voice was almost a whisper.
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“You invested it.”
And for the first time that night, Tamika did not say she could pay it back.
