Chapter 5: The Secret My Family Buried
I didn't remember driving home.
I remembered the elevator in my apartment building. I remembered fumbling with my keys. I remembered sitting on the edge of my bed with my phone pressed to my ear, listening to Jasmine cry as if she were the one whose life had just been turned upside down.
"Say that again," I told her.
She sniffed.
"Your father knew Romeo's family.""
"My father has been dead for six years.""
"I know.""
"Then what does he have to do with any of this?""
Jasmine hesitated.
I stood up and began pacing.
"Jasmine, I swear to God, if you give me another half-truth—"
"I'm trying to explain.""
"Then explain!""
She took a breath.
"Before your father died, he had a business arrangement with Romeo's uncle. They were involved in a property deal.""
I stopped pacing.
My father, David Carter, had worked in construction for most of his adult life. He'd been a quiet man who came home with dust on his boots and spent Sunday afternoons repairing whatever had broken around the house.
After he died, my mother had told us he'd left a few debts behind.
She'd sold his old truck, settled what she could, and refused to discuss the details.
I'd assumed that was the end of it.
"What property deal?"" I asked.
"I don't know everything.""
"Of course you don't.""
"I know your father invested money in a development project. Romeo's uncle was supposed to handle the business side.""
I sat down slowly.
"How do you know this?""
"Because Romeo told me.""
"Why would Romeo tell you anything about my father?""
"Because he was looking for somebody who knew your family.""
I gripped the edge of the mattress.
"Why?""
Jasmine began crying harder.
"His uncle passed away last year. Romeo said some documents were missing, and he believed your father had kept copies.""
I stared at the wall.
My father had been dead for six years. Whatever business he'd conducted belonged to a time when I was still learning how to pay my own bills.
"Are you telling me Romeo started dating me because he thought I had documents?""
"I didn't know that's what he wanted at first.""
"But you knew something.""
She didn't answer.
I closed my eyes.
"How long have you known Romeo?""
"About eight months.""
Eight months.
I'd known him for four.
"Did you know he had a child?""
"Yes.""
"Did you know he was still involved with Selena?""
"I knew they were complicated.""
"Did you know he bought her a ring?""
"No.""
"Did you know he was using me to get to my family?""
Silence.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
"Jasmine.""
"I suspected he wanted something from you.""
The admission landed harder than a shout.
"You suspected?""
"Listen to me. I owed him money. I was behind on my car payments, and he helped me when I was in a bad situation. He said he could help me get back on my feet.""
"So you paid him back by handing him my life?""
"No! That's not what I wanted.""
"Then what did you want?""
She broke down.
"I thought if you two got together, everything would work out. I thought he would stop looking for those documents and start focusing on you. He said he liked you.""
I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"You thought a man would stop using me if I became his girlfriend?""
"I know how it sounds.""
"It sounds like you sold my trust for two thousand dollars.""
She started crying again.
I hung up.
For several minutes, I sat motionless.
Then I opened my contacts and called my mother.
She answered with her usual warmth.
"Hey, baby. Everything okay?""
I almost lost my nerve.
"Mom, I need to ask you something about Dad.""
The warmth in her voice disappeared.
"What about him?""
"Did he have a business arrangement with a man named—"
I stopped.
I didn't know Romeo's uncle's name.
I called Jasmine back, but she didn't answer.
"Mom, did Dad ever invest in a property development with another family?""
The silence on the other end lasted so long that I checked whether the call had disconnected.
Finally, my mother spoke.
"Who told you that?""
My heart began racing.
"So it's true?""
"Where did you hear about this?""
"Mom, please.""
She sighed.
"Your father made some investments before he died. He thought he was helping somebody he trusted.""
"Who?""
"I don't want to discuss this over the phone.""
"Why not?""
"Because I don't know who's listening to you.""
I stood up.
"Who's listening to me?""
"No one, as far as I know. I'm saying these things have a way of coming back when you least expect them.""
"Mom, a man I've been dating knows about Dad's business. He thinks there are missing documents. He approached me because he wanted something from my family.""
My mother's breathing changed.
"What's his name?""
"Romeo.""
The name seemed to strike her like a physical blow.
"Oh, God.""
I gripped the phone.
"You know him?""
"No. But I know that family.""
"Then tell me what happened.""
My mother was quiet for several seconds.
"Come over tomorrow morning. Bring whatever information you have. Don't call anyone else about this until we talk.""
"Why?""
"Because your father didn't lose that money in a normal business deal.""
I sat down again.
"What does that mean?""
"It means somebody lied to him.""
My mother's voice dropped to a whisper.
"And I have reason to believe that lie followed us long after his death.""
The call ended a few minutes later, with no real answers.
I barely slept.
At seven the next morning, I drove to my mother's house on the south side of Atlanta. The neighborhood looked exactly as it had when I was a child. The same old trees.
The same cracked sidewalks. The same porch where my father used to sit with a cup of coffee and wave at passing neighbors.
My mother opened the door before I knocked.
She wore a faded sweatshirt and house slippers. Her eyes were swollen, as though she hadn't slept either.
"Come in.""
I followed her into the kitchen.
A pot of coffee sat on the stove. Two mugs waited on the table beside a stack of old photographs and a cardboard folder tied with string.
My mother pulled out a chair.
"Sit down.""
I looked at the folder.
"What is that?""
"Something I should have shown you a long time ago.""
She untied the string and removed a thick envelope.
Inside were copies of contracts, bank statements, and letters bearing my father's signature.
I recognized his handwriting immediately.
At the bottom of one document was the name of a property development company.
The name meant nothing to me.
But the signature beside it did.
*Malcolm Hayes.*
I looked up.
"Who is that?""
My mother folded her hands.
"Romeo's uncle.""
She explained that my father had invested his savings in a small residential development project nearly seven years earlier. Malcolm Hayes had promised to build affordable homes and divide the profits among the investors.
My father had believed him.
He'd put nearly everything he had saved into the deal.
Then the project collapsed.
The company claimed it had run out of money. Investors were told their funds had been lost. Malcolm insisted the records had been destroyed when his office flooded.
My father hired a lawyer, but the case went nowhere.
Six months later, he died.
"What happened to the money?"" I asked.
My mother looked down.
"We never got it back.""
"How much?""
She told me.
The number was so large that I had to ask her to repeat it.
My father had invested nearly eighty thousand dollars.
I pressed my palm against the table.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"You were twenty-two. Your father had just died. I didn't want you carrying his problems.""
"Those were our problems, Mom.""
"I know.""
Her eyes filled.
"I thought if I kept the past buried, we could move forward.""
I looked at the documents again.
"Why would Romeo think I have something he needs?""
My mother reached into the envelope and removed a folded sheet of paper.
"Because your father told me something before he died.""
She unfolded it.
It was a handwritten note addressed to her.
The first lines were ordinary, written in the careful handwriting I remembered from birthday cards and grocery lists.
Then I saw a sentence underlined twice.
If Malcolm's family ever comes looking for the original records, do not give them anything until you speak to the attorney.
My mouth went dry.
"Original records?""
My mother nodded.
"Your father believed he had proof that Malcolm transferred the money before the company went under.""
"Where are those records?""
"I don't know.""
I stared at her.
"You don't know?""
"He told me he'd put them somewhere safe. He said if anything happened to him, I should wait until the right time.""
"And you never found them?""
"No.""
I sat back, trying to absorb everything.
Romeo hadn't simply hidden a child or a relationship.
He had approached me with a purpose tied to a financial dispute that had haunted my family for years.
But there was still one question.
If he believed I had the records, why hadn't he simply asked me about them?
My mother seemed to read the thought on my face.
"Your father didn't trust Malcolm. And he didn't trust the people around him.""
She reached for another sheet of paper.
"This was in the envelope with his note.""
It was a photocopy of an old photograph.
My father stood beside three men in front of a construction site. One was Malcolm Hayes. Another was a younger man I didn't recognize.
The third was standing at the edge of the photograph, partially turned away from the camera.
I leaned closer.
Something about him looked familiar.
The shape of his face.
The way he held his shoulders.
The small scar near his left eyebrow.
I picked up the photograph with shaking fingers.
"Mom.""
She watched me carefully.
"What?""
I pointed at the man.
"That's Romeo's father.""
My mother went pale.
"Are you sure?""
"I've seen pictures of him.""
She sat down opposite me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then my phone vibrated on the table.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
You need to stop asking questions about your father's business.
A second message followed.
The documents belong to our family. Don't make the same mistake your father made.
I stared at the screen.
My mother reached across the table and took my hand.
"Baby, what is it?""
I turned the phone toward her.
She read the messages, then looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Because beneath the second message was a photograph.
It showed the front of my mother's house.
Taken that morning.
May you like
From across the street.
And whoever had taken it had been close enough to see me walk through the front door.