Chapter 7 - Blood and Business
Derrick Reed had been Marcus’s cousin before he was his employee.
They had grown up three streets apart.
Played basketball in the same cracked driveway.
Buried Marcus’s father together.
When Reed Restoration expanded, Marcus hired Derrick as operations manager despite Derrick having no formal construction-management degree.
Marcus trusted him.
Seven years later, Marcus fired him.
Officially, the reason was performance.
Unofficially, it was because Derrick had begun treating company money like family money.
Fuel cards.
Personal meals.
Unapproved overtime for friends.
Nothing Marcus had considered criminal.
Just careless.
Now Marcus sat across from Lena Brooks staring at Derrick’s username.
“When was this entered?”
“Four years and two months ago.”
Marcus remembered the period.
He and Vanessa had been fighting constantly.
Derrick still worked at Reed Restoration.
Porter asked, “Did Derrick and Vanessa get along?”
“Too well sometimes.”
Lena looked up.
Marcus clarified.
“Not romantic. They just agreed about me.”
“What did they agree about?”
“That I was controlling.”
The word came out reluctantly.
Marcus remembered cookouts where Derrick teased him.
Man got a spreadsheet for his spreadsheets.
Vanessa always laughed hardest.
“What happened when you fired Derrick?” Porter asked.
“Vanessa said I was humiliating family.”
“Did Derrick resent you?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to assist her?”
Marcus looked at the audit log.
“I don’t know.”
Porter’s expression said Marcus had already answered.
They subpoenaed Derrick’s records.
Three days later, Derrick called Marcus.
Not Porter.
Marcus.
“You got lawyers digging through my accounts?”
Marcus stood in his office.
“Did you certify Vanessa for a profit-sharing distribution?”
Silence.
“Derrick.”
“You always come in accusing.”
“Answer me.”
“It was her money.”
Marcus’s grip tightened around the phone.
“She wasn’t eligible.”
“She helped build that company before you started acting like she was just somebody using your last name.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“You altered an employee record.”
“I corrected one.”
“You forged my approval.”
“I never forged anything.”
“My signature is on it.”
“That form came through Vanessa.”
Marcus stopped.
“So you entered something with my signature without speaking to me.”
“I thought you signed it.”
“Did you?”
Derrick hesitated.
Marcus whispered, “Did you believe I signed it?”
No answer.
That was enough.
“You need a lawyer.”
“Marcus—”
“You need one.”
He ended the call.
That evening Aisha Reed-Jackson arrived at Marcus’s house carrying takeout and anger.
Aisha was Marcus’s younger sister, a high-school principal who had disliked Derrick’s employment from the beginning.
“I told you.”
Marcus opened the door wider.
“Please don’t start.”
“I told you blood does not make people competent.”
“This isn’t about competence.”
“No. Apparently it’s about fraud.”
Marcus walked into the dining room.
Aisha followed.
She looked around.
“Still weird without her.”
Marcus did not answer.
Aisha set down the food.
“Did Vanessa really move almost nine hundred thousand?”
“Not all confirmed yet.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes.”
Aisha sat.
He told her about Derrick.
She became quiet.
“That explains something.”
Marcus looked at her.
“What?”
Aisha hesitated.
“About five years ago, Derrick asked me whether you had a prenup.”
Marcus frowned.
“We didn’t.”
“I told him that.”
“Why would he ask?”
“He said Vanessa was nervous.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought he was gossiping.”
Marcus paced.
Aisha watched him.
“There’s more.”
Marcus stopped.
“Of course there is.”
“Vanessa came to me once.”
“When?”
“After you refused to put her name on the deed.”
Marcus stared.
“She told you that?”
“She was furious.”
“What did she say?”
“That she had spent years making a home she could be thrown out of in one afternoon.”
Marcus looked toward the staircase.
“I would never have done that.”
“I know.”
“She should have known.”
Aisha’s expression softened.
“Maybe.”
Marcus turned sharply.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a good man who sometimes thinks being reliable is the same thing as being emotionally available.”
Marcus said nothing.
Aisha continued.
“You built systems around everybody. Vanessa lived inside those systems. Your company. Your house. Your schedule.”
“So stealing was justified?”
“I did not say that.”
“Everybody keeps telling me what I did wrong right before they say she stole almost a million dollars.”
“Because two things can be true.”
Marcus pulled out a chair.
His anger collapsed into exhaustion.
Aisha sat across from him.
“Did she ever say she wanted the house before the divorce?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years ago. She said if we ever moved, she wanted to keep it as a rental.”
“No. I mean did she ever say she wanted that house specifically?”
Marcus thought.
Then remembered.
Their ninth anniversary.
They had stood on the screened porch after an argument.
Vanessa had touched the brick wall.
She said, One day this will be the only thing left that proves I was here.
At the time Marcus thought she was being dramatic.
Now the sentence sounded like prophecy.
His phone buzzed.
Porter.
Marcus answered.
“We received Derrick’s bank records,” Porter said.
“And?”
“A company called Crown Oak paid him thirty-six thousand dollars over two years.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Aisha saw his face.
Porter continued.
“But Derrick wasn’t the only person receiving money.”
Marcus looked up.
“Who else?”
Porter named a person Marcus had never expected.
Someone who had been inside their home almost every week for years.
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Their former marriage counselor.
Dr. Elaine Warren.
