Chapter 12 - The Mother Who Wasn’t Dead
Marcus’s mother was alive.
The fact was so absurd that Tasha initially suspected a clerical coincidence.
Reed was common.
Renee was common.
But Vanessa found the sentencing memorandum.
Renee Reed, mother of defendant Marcus Reed, had submitted a character letter.
Tasha had never seen it.
The letter was sealed with other personal sentencing materials.
“How could his mother write the judge when Marcus told me she died before we met?”
Vanessa had no answer.
Tasha called Marcus.
For once, she did not wait for legal strategy.
He answered immediately.
“What now?”
“Your mother.”
Silence.
Tasha closed her eyes.
“She’s alive.”
Marcus breathed out.
“Who told you?”
“That is your question?”
“Tasha.”
“You told me she was dead.”
“She was dead to me.”
The cliché enraged her.
“You showed me a funeral photograph.”
“My grandmother’s funeral.”
“You said it was your mother.”
“I didn’t want to talk about Renee.”
“So you created a death?”
“You don’t know her.”
“No, Marcus. That was apparently the plan.”
He remained silent.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Her bank account is connected to notes in your prison letters.”
“What notes?”
“Don’t.”
Marcus exhaled.
“She helped me financially.”
“While you were incarcerated?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you would have asked questions.”
“That is what wives do when dead mothers start making deposits.”
“Tasha.”
“Is she part of Second Line?”
“No.”
“KJ Supplies?”
“No.”
“Did she move money for you?”
A pause.
“Tasha, leave Renee alone.”
“Why?”
“She’s seventy.”
“And alive.”
He hung up.
Tasha stared at the phone.
The deception was older than prison.
Older than Kiara.
Older than the company.
She contacted no one directly.
Vanessa searched public records.
Renee Reed owned a modest home outside Birmingham, Alabama.
No criminal record.
No obvious business ties.
Then Denise remembered something.
“Marcus used to disappear one weekend every summer.”
Tasha looked at her.
“What?”
“Before prison.”
“He said he went fishing with cousins.”
“I remember.”
Tasha remembered too.
He returned with catfish photographs and stories about sleeping in a cabin.
Maybe some trips were real.
Maybe not.
Denise shook her head.
“How many lives did this man need?”
Tasha did not answer.
The next morning an email arrived from an unfamiliar address.
Tasha, my name is Renee Reed. Vanessa Cole contacted an attorney representing me regarding preservation of records. I think we should speak. I have wanted to for years.
Tasha forwarded it to Vanessa.
With attorneys aware, a video call was arranged.
Renee appeared on screen at four that afternoon.
She was seventy-one, dark-skinned, silver-haired, and unmistakably related to Marcus around the eyes.
Tasha felt dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” Renee said first.
“For which part?”
“For letting my son make me into a ghost.”
“Why did you?”
Renee looked tired.
“When Marcus was twenty-three, he stole from me.”
Tasha went still.
“He used my information to get business credit.”
“How much?”
“Enough that I almost lost my house.”
Tasha felt the room tilt.
Renee continued.
“I reported him.”
“You called police on your son?”
“I did.”
“Was he charged?”
“No. He paid some back. Family pressured me. I withdrew cooperation where I could.”
“Marcus told me his mother died when he was nineteen.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“He told me after you married.”
“You knew about me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he told me you were dead?”
“Yes.”
Tasha’s voice cracked.
“And you accepted that?”
Renee looked directly into the camera.
“I thought staying away protected you.”
“From what?”
“From having to choose between believing your husband and believing his mother.”
Tasha laughed bitterly.
“He made that choice for me.”
“Yes.”
“Did you send him money in prison?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“He’s my son.”
Despite everything, Tasha understood.
That was the terrible symmetry.
Loyalty could survive knowledge.
The difference was whether loyalty required lying to yourself.
“What account is tied to the routing number?”
Renee’s expression changed.
“He had access to an account for my household expenses while he was incarcerated.”
“How?”
“I gave Lionel limited permission to deposit money. Marcus sometimes asked me to receive funds he said came from legitimate family sources.”
“Whose money?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did money from Kiara ever enter?”
“I know that name now. I didn’t then.”
Renee’s attorney had prepared statements.
Several transfers during Marcus’s last prison year came from KJ Supplies.
Small amounts.
$900.
$1,200.
$1,750.
KJ Supplies had received money before Marcus was released.
“Where did KJ get it?” Tasha asked.
Vanessa answered.
“That’s what we need to determine.”
Kiara believed the early funds came from Lionel and “investment partners.”
Renee continued.
“Marcus told me he was building a business for after prison.”
“Did he tell you about me financing it?”
“He said you would help later.”
“Did he say anything about leaving me?”
Renee looked away.
“Yes.”
Tasha’s chest tightened.
“When?”
“Maybe six months before release.”
“Did he mention Kiara?”
“Not by name.”
“What did he say?”
“That he had met someone who saw him differently.”
Tasha closed her eyes.
Renee whispered, “I told him if he was going to leave his wife, he should do it before taking another dollar from you.”
A tear moved down Tasha’s face.
“Thank you.”
Renee looked startled.
“For what?”
“For being one person who apparently said it.”
Renee began crying too.
“There’s something else.”
Tasha almost laughed.
There was always something else.
“Marcus didn’t create Second Line for Kiara.”
“Then why?”
Renee looked toward her attorney.
Then back.
“He created the name years ago.”
“How many?”
“Before his arrest.”
Tasha’s pulse quickened.
“What for?”
“He told me it was the company he would use if his current business ever collapsed.”
The old scheme had not merely resembled the new one.
Second Line had been conceived before Marcus went to prison.
A backup.
A second line.
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He had not come home and fallen into old habits.
He had come home to finish an old plan.
