Chapter 12 - Northline CreativeThe mystery company belonged to Marcus’s younger sister.
Nia Reed.
Not the Nia from Kelvin’s story—this Nia existed only in Marcus’s family, a forty-percent owner on paper of Northline Creative LLC.
She was twenty-seven.
A freelance graphic designer.
And when Darius contacted her attorney, Nia sounded genuinely terrified.
She agreed to an interview.
Ashley attended.
Simone did not.
Nia sat with her own lawyer.
“I didn’t know.”
Darius asked, “Know what?”
“That he was using the company like that.”
“What did you believe Northline did?”
“Design consulting.”
“Did you perform services for Bennett Hospitality?”
“Two logo projects.”
“Value?”
“Maybe six thousand total.”
“Bennett paid Northline sixty-three thousand.”
Nia’s face drained.
“I never saw that.”
“Who controlled the account?”
“Marcus.”
“Why?”
“He helped me set everything up.”
Ashley felt cold.
Another person.
Another business.
Same pattern.
Nia continued.
“He said if he brought clients, he wanted to manage billing.”
“Did you agree?”
“At first.”
“Did you review statements?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Nia looked ashamed.
“Because he’s my brother.”
Ashley almost laughed.
Trust.
Always trust.
Darius showed transfers.
Northline to Reed Development.
Northline to Marcus personally.
A twelve-thousand-dollar payment toward the wedding photographer.
Ashley stared.
“My wedding was paid partly with stolen company money?”
Darius nodded grimly.
Nia covered her face.
“I’m sorry.”
Ashley looked at her.
“You didn’t send it.”
“I let him use my company.”
Ashley recognized the guilt.
Simone felt it too.
The guilt of having trusted someone.
“I’m learning that those aren’t the same thing,” Ashley said.
Nia looked up.
Afterward Ashley called Simone.
“There’s another woman.”
Simone sighed.
“Please don’t say it like that.”
Despite everything, Ashley laughed.
“His sister.”
“Oh.”
“Northline is hers.”
“Did she know?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
Simone went quiet.
“How many people did he use?”
Ashley stared out her office window.
“I don’t think he thinks of it as using people.”
“That might be worse.”
“Yes.”
Simone asked, “What does he think he was doing?”
Ashley remembered Marcus’s face in the conference room.
“Surviving.”
Simone was silent.
Marcus had grown up with utility shutoff notices and eviction threats.
He had told her stories.
A mother stretching food.
Sleeping in relatives’ homes.
Promises that things would be better next month.
Ambition had made sense.
Secrecy had once perhaps been a survival skill.
But childhood explained the shape of a wound.
It did not excuse what he built with it.
Ashley said, “His sister told me he used to hide overdue notices from their mother.”
Simone closed her eyes.
“That tracks.”
“He was thirteen.”
“And now he’s thirty-three.”
“Yes.”
They both understood.
The story was becoming psychologically clearer.
Not morally softer.
That week, the board voted unanimously to refer the matter to outside investigators and the company’s insurer.
The decision became public because a required financial disclosure was made to lenders.
The gossip story changed.
It was no longer merely:
GROOM CAUGHT WITH CAKE DESIGNER AT ALTAR.
Now:
BENNETT HOSPITALITY INVESTIGATES FORMER EXECUTIVE AFTER WEDDING SCANDAL.
Simone hated seeing her business mentioned.
Ashley hated seeing her family name.
Marcus resigned before he could be terminated.
His resignation letter said:
I take responsibility for administrative decisions made under extraordinary financial pressure.
Ashley read it twice.
Then forwarded it to Darius with one sentence:
He still cannot write “I stole.”
That afternoon Simone’s bank released eleven thousand dollars of held merchant funds.
Enough to breathe.
Not enough to relax.
Her landlord called.
The owner had been notified that the pending sale to Reed Development was in dispute.
Closing was suspended.
Simone’s lease remained valid.
For now.
That evening she entered her apartment and noticed something she had avoided for days.
Marcus’s clothes.
Two shirts.
Running shoes.
A toiletry bag.
She placed everything into a box.
At the bottom of his nightstand drawer she found an envelope.
Her name was written on it.
She opened it.
Inside was a printed ownership proposal for the bakery building.
51% — Simone Carter.
49% — Reed Development LLC.
Simone stared.
The document appeared real.
Marcus had told the truth about that part.
He had intended to give her majority ownership.
Tears came unexpectedly.
Because the worst betrayals were not always built entirely from lies.
Sometimes the truth was used as mortar.
She called Danielle.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“A draft ownership agreement.”
She explained.
Danielle asked, “Does that change what you want?”
Simone stared at the paper.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because a gift bought with stolen money isn’t love.”
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She placed the agreement beside Marcus’s boxed belongings.
And for the first time, she knew exactly what she would say if he ever asked why his intentions were not enough.
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