Chapter 10 - What He Thought He Was Owed
Marcus asked to meet in a public place.
Vanessa recommended against a private confrontation, so Tasha chose a coffee shop near her office and told Marcus that Vanessa would sit at another table.
He arrived fifteen minutes early.
That was unlike him.
Prison had taught Marcus patience but not punctuality.
He wore a charcoal sweater Tasha bought three months earlier.
Seeing it annoyed her.
“I want my phone back,” he said.
“Vanessa has arranged to preserve a forensic copy. You’ll get the device after she confirms what can legally be retained.”
“You had no right.”
Tasha stirred coffee she did not intend to drink.
“You can argue that with her.”
Marcus glanced toward Vanessa.
“You’re treating me like a criminal.”
“You are a convicted criminal.”
His face tightened.
Tasha had never weaponized that fact before.
“I deserved that.”
“No,” she said. “You deserved the sentence for whatever you actually did. I’m still learning what that was.”
Marcus leaned back.
“So Cedric got to you.”
“He showed me your handwriting.”
“Cedric is protecting himself.”
“From a case that ended eight years ago?”
“He hates me.”
“That may be true. The document is still your handwriting.”
Marcus looked away.
Tasha felt something inside her settle.
For years she had believed she needed him to confess in order to know.
She did not.
Evidence did not become less real because the person responsible refused to bless it.
“Did you design the old vendor scheme?”
Marcus rubbed his palms together.
“I participated.”
“That isn’t what you told me.”
“I was ashamed.”
“You let me blame Cedric.”
“He wasn’t innocent.”
“Neither were you.”
“I never said I was.”
“Yes, you did. You just used softer language.”
Marcus stared at her.
“You came here to punish me?”
“I came because I want answers.”
“You already decided what you think.”
“Then surprise me.”
His eyes hardened.
“What do you want to know?”
“Why Kiara?”
He flinched.
Not because he did not expect the question.
Because he did.
“I didn’t plan that.”
“The business was planned.”
“Yes.”
“The affair?”
“No.”
“You wrote love letters to her from prison.”
“I wrote letters.”
“She says you told her you loved her.”
“I was isolated.”
Tasha nodded.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The excuse.”
“I’m explaining context.”
“You had a wife.”
“I know.”
“A wife who answered every call.”
“I know.”
“A wife who visited.”
“I know.”
“Then how isolated were you?”
His voice sharpened.
“You went home after visits.”
Tasha stopped.
Marcus continued.
“You walked out. You got in your car. You ate whatever you wanted. You slept in your own bed.”
“I never pretended I was incarcerated.”
“No. You pretended supporting me meant you understood it.”
The bitterness startled her.
“Is that what you told Kiara?”
“I’m telling you.”
“You resented me for being free.”
“I resented needing you.”
There.
The same theme as the letters.
Debt.
Marcus looked exhausted.
“Every time you put money on my account, I was grateful. And ashamed. Every visit, grateful and ashamed. Every problem you fixed reminded me I couldn’t fix anything.”
“So you punished me for helping.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You slept with my niece.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“You planned to hide business assets.”
“I planned to protect what I built.”
“With my money.”
“With our money.”
“My house secured the line.”
“We’re married.”
“You planned a divorce while using marital property.”
“I didn’t plan a divorce.”
“Your messages say otherwise.”
“I planned for the possibility because I knew you might react exactly like this if you found out about Kiara.”
Tasha almost laughed.
“You mean file for divorce after discovering adultery?”
Marcus leaned forward.
“I came home with nothing.”
“That was not my fault.”
“I know.”
“No. Say it like you know it.”
His jaw tightened.
“I came home with nothing.”
“And I gave you a home.”
“Yes.”
“I gave you money.”
“Yes.”
“Credit.”
“Yes.”
“A company.”
“We built that together.”
“Then why were you trying to move ownership?”
Marcus’s eyes flickered.
“I needed independent control.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew if our marriage failed, you could shut everything down.”
“You mean I could stop funding you.”
“See? That.”
“What?”
“You always saw it as yours.”
“It was my credit.”
“Our marriage.”
“My inheritance bought the house.”
“Our marriage.”
“My salary kept the mortgage current for eight years.”
“Our marriage.”
Tasha stared.
He genuinely believed the institution of marriage converted her sacrifices into his entitlement while his secrets remained private property.
“How much do you think I owe you?”
Marcus looked offended.
“I never said you owed me.”
“You wrote, ‘I did eight years. I’m not walking out with nothing.’”
His face changed.
“You read that.”
“Yes.”
“That was anger.”
“What do you think prison owes you?”
“Nothing.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what were you entitled to take?”
Marcus looked toward the window.
For a moment she saw the man from before prison.
Ambitious.
Charming.
Certain that if he could explain something long enough, morality would eventually surrender to strategy.
“I wanted a foundation,” he said.
“You had one.”
“I wanted something that was mine.”
“So you stole pieces of mine.”
“I didn’t steal.”
Tasha slid printed invoices across the table.
“KJ Supplies billed for equipment that our inventory list doesn’t show.”
Marcus looked at them.
“We used subcontracted materials.”
“Where are the receipts?”
“I can produce them.”
“Do.”
His eyes lifted.
“And if I do?”
“Then that part may not be fraud.”
“You still leave me.”
Tasha looked at him.
“This marriage ended before I knew it had.”
He absorbed that.
For the first time, sadness appeared without calculation.
“I loved you, Tasha.”
“I believe you did.”
That surprised him.
She continued.
“I also believe you resented loving me.”
He said nothing.
“And I think you wanted Kiara because she knew the version of you that hadn’t failed yet.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know what she and I had.”
“No. But I know what you and I had.”
Tasha stood.
Marcus’s voice followed.
“Tasha.”
She paused.
“Kiara isn’t innocent.”
“I know.”
“She knew about the money.”
“I know.”
“She wanted you out of the way too.”
Tasha turned.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus realized he had said too much.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“What did she do?”
Marcus looked down.
Tasha returned to the table.
“Marcus.”
He stayed silent.
She leaned closer.
“What did Kiara do?”
Finally he said, “Ask her about the email she drafted.”
“What email?”
“The one to the bank.”
Tasha’s stomach tightened.
“What was in it?”
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Marcus met her eyes.
“She was going to pretend to be you.”
