Chapter 4: The Night My First Wife Died
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the refrigerator humming behind me.
Danielle.
My first wife. Zoe's mother. The woman whose laugh used to fill every room she entered, whose handwriting still appeared on birthday cards tucked inside my desk, whose perfume I sometimes thought I smelled when I opened the cedar chest at the foot of our bed.
She had been gone for five years.
Five years of hospital bills, funeral arrangements, sleepless nights, and learning how to braid my daughter's hair from online videos because Danielle had always been the one who did it.
And now my wife was standing in my kitchen, telling me that my dead wife's name was somehow connected to a forged loan application and nearly thirty thousand dollars missing from my daughter's savings.
I stepped closer to Monique.
“What happened the night Danielle died?””
Monique pressed her lips together.
“Not here.””
“No. We're doing this here.””
“Cam is in the room.””
I looked at my stepson.
“He deserves to know why his mother has been stealing from his stepsister.””
Cam's face tightened, but he didn't argue.
Monique looked at Zoe.
“And she doesn't need to hear this.””
Zoe stood abruptly.
“I heard you tell me I was lucky you let me live here. I heard you tell Cam that my car belonged to him. I've heard plenty of things I wasn't supposed to hear.””
Her voice trembled, but she didn't sit down.
“If this is about my mom, I want to know.””
Monique looked toward me, searching for an ally.
I gave her none.
“Tell us,” I said.
She slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“Five years ago, before Danielle died, she contacted me.””
I frowned.
“Why would she contact you? You weren't married to me then.””
“I knew her through someone else.””
“Who?””
Monique hesitated.
“Her sister.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
Danielle had one sister, Renee, who lived in Atlanta. Renee had attended the funeral, hugged Zoe, and returned home after a week. She and I had exchanged occasional messages over the years, mostly about Zoe's birthday and school achievements.
I had never heard that she and Monique knew each other.
“How?””
“Renee and I worked together briefly. We weren't close.””
“Then why would Danielle contact you?””
Monique looked down at her hands.
“She wanted help.””
“With what?””
“Money.””
I laughed once, without humor.
“Danielle had life insurance. She had savings. We owned a house together. What could she possibly have needed money for?””
“Not everything was as simple as you think.””
“Then explain it.””
Monique drew a shaky breath.
“She had discovered something about a financial account that belonged to her family. She thought someone had been using her personal information without permission. She was frightened and didn't know who to trust.””
I stared at her.
“Are you saying Danielle knew someone was stealing her identity?””
“That's what she told me.””
“And you helped her?””
Monique didn't answer immediately.
“No,” she finally whispered.
“I didn't.””
The admission landed harder than I expected.
“Why not?””
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
She looked at me.
“Of losing everything.””
Cam shook his head.
“Mom, what are you talking about?””
Monique ignored him.
“Danielle asked me to keep a document safe. She said that if anything happened to her, I was supposed to give it to you.””
My heart began to pound.
“What document?””
“A letter.””
“Where is it?””
“I don't have it anymore.””
I gripped the back of a chair.
“What do you mean, you don't have it?””
“She took it back before she died.””
“Then why did you say you were supposed to give it to me?””
“Because she left me a copy.””
“And where is that?””
Monique closed her eyes.
“It's in the locked drawer.””
I stared at her.
The desk in our bedroom suddenly seemed less like a piece of furniture and more like a locked door between me and five years of unanswered questions.
“Get it.””
She didn't move.
“Monique.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because the letter isn't the only thing in there.””
I walked to the hallway.
“Then we're going upstairs.””
She stood quickly.
“Wait.””
I turned.
“Are you going to tell me the truth, or are you going to make me discover it myself?””
Her eyes glistened.
“I need you to promise me something first.””
“No.””
“You haven't even heard what I'm asking.””
“I've spent five years believing I knew the people I loved. This morning, I found out my wife stole from my daughter and tried to use her account to secure a loan. You don't get to demand promises before telling me why.””
For a moment, she looked as if she might slap me.
Instead, she whispered, “Danielle wasn't the only person who knew about the account.””
I went still.
“What account?””
“The family account.””
“Zoe's account?””
“No. An older account.””
I stared at her.
She had already taken enough money from Zoe to make me sick. Now she was telling me there was another account connected to Danielle.
“Start from the beginning,” I said.
Monique rubbed her forehead.
“Before Danielle married you, her father established an investment account for her. It was meant to be passed down through the family. When he died, there was a dispute about who controlled it.””
“Danielle never told me about an inheritance.””
“Because she didn't trust the people involved.””
“Who were the people involved?””
Monique's eyes moved toward the front window.
Then she said a name I hadn't heard in years.
“Marcus Bell.””
I frowned.
“Who is Marcus Bell?””
“Danielle's former attorney.””
I shook my head.
“I've never met him.””
“You weren't supposed to.””
“Why?””
“Because he was the one who told Danielle that the money had disappeared.””
My thoughts raced.
Danielle had worked as a financial analyst before Zoe was born. She was careful with money, almost obsessively so. When she became ill, she had organized our insurance policies, our mortgage paperwork, and Zoe's future expenses into neat folders.
She had never mentioned Marcus Bell.
“Are you telling me someone stole Danielle's inheritance?””
“I'm telling you that she believed someone had.””
“And you know who?””
Monique looked at Cam.
He was standing by the doorway, pale and silent.
“I thought I did,” she whispered.
I stepped toward her.
“Who?””
Before she could answer, Zoe's phone rang.
The sound startled all of us.
She looked at the screen.
“It's Aunt Renee.””
My daughter's voice was small.
I nodded toward her.
“Answer it.””
Zoe put the call on speaker.
“Hi, Aunt Renee.””
“Zoe, sweetheart, are you home?””
“Yes.””
“Is your father there?””
I leaned closer.
“I'm here, Renee.””
There was a pause.
Then her voice dropped.
“Andre, I need you to listen carefully. I just received a message from someone I haven't spoken to in five years. He says Monique has started moving money again.””
I looked directly at my wife.
Renee continued.
“Did you find the letter?””
Monique gripped the edge of the table.
I answered for her.
“What letter?””
Silence.
Then Renee whispered, “Oh, God.””
“Renee, what letter are you talking about?””
“The one Danielle left before she died.””
I felt my knees weaken.
“You knew about this?””
“I knew part of it.””
“Part of what?””
Renee exhaled shakily.
“Danielle didn't die knowing that her account was empty. She died believing someone was trying to take something much bigger from her family.””
I looked at Monique.
Her eyes were fixed on the phone.
Renee continued.
“She told me that if anything happened to her, I had to find you and make sure you never signed anything Marcus Bell sent you.””
My blood ran cold.
“What did Marcus want me to sign?””
“I don't know. Danielle never told me everything. She said she had discovered a connection between the missing money and someone close to you.””
I turned toward Monique.
She was crying now, but I couldn't tell whether she was afraid of the truth or afraid that I was finally hearing it.
“Renee,” I said, “who was the person close to me?””
“I don't know, Andre. But Danielle wrote down a name. She said it was the name of the person who could explain everything.””
“Whose name?””
Renee hesitated.
Then she spoke.
“Monique.””
The call ended a second later.
Nobody moved.
I looked at my wife.
“Did Danielle accuse you of stealing her money?””
Monique shook her head violently.
“No. Not exactly.””
“Then what did she accuse you of?””
She covered her mouth.
“I didn't know what Marcus was doing. I swear to you, I didn't know the whole truth.””
I walked toward the stairs.
“Get the letter.””
This time, she followed me.
We entered the bedroom together. The morning sun fell across the bed, illuminating the framed wedding photograph on the dresser.
Monique and I stood smiling beneath an arch of white roses. She had worn an ivory dress. I remembered how she had cried during our vows, how she'd promised to love Zoe as her own.
I had believed her.
She opened the desk drawer with a small key attached to her bracelet.
Inside were envelopes, bank statements, an old passport, and a thick manila folder.
She pulled out a faded photograph.
I recognized Danielle immediately.
She was standing outside a brick building, her hair tied back, one hand resting on her stomach.
Beside her stood a younger Monique.
Behind them was Marcus Bell.
On the back, in blue ink, were the words Zoe had described.
*He doesn't know yet.*
Beneath the photograph was a name.
*Daniel Mitchell.*
My father.
I stared at the writing.
My father had been dead for eleven years.
“What does my father have to do with this?””
Monique began to sob.
“He was the one who introduced Danielle to Marcus.””
I turned slowly.
“What?””
“He knew about the account. He knew about the money. And before he died, he asked Danielle to keep something from you.””
I looked down at the photograph again.
Danielle's expression was serious. Marcus's hand rested on her shoulder.
Monique looked at me with desperate eyes.
“Your father didn't just know about the account, Andre. He knew who the money really belonged to.””
And suddenly, I understood that whatever had happened five years ago had begun long before I ever met Monique.
But the most frightening part was this:
May you like
My father had left me a will.
And Monique had been the one who insisted we never needed to read the original.
