Chapter 4: The Attorney Who Knew My Name
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the hum of the library's air conditioner.
My mother was still crying on the other end of the phone, but her words had stopped making sense. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A trust.
An attorney who had contacted her last week. Money that might already be gone.
I looked at Andre.
He had stopped pretending not to listen.
“What does she mean, the money might be gone?”” he mouthed.
I held up one finger, asking him to wait.
“Ma,” I said into the phone, “give me the attorney's name.””
“Malik, please. You need to understand—”
“No. I've spent my whole life understanding everybody else's problems. Now I need somebody to explain mine.””
She inhaled shakily.
“His name is Richard Coleman. He handled your grandfather's estate.””
“Where is his office?””
“I have his card somewhere.””
“Then find it.””
“Baby, Darnell doesn't know everything about this. He was only trying to help me get through a difficult time.””
I gripped the edge of the library table.
“Stop talking about what Darnell was trying to do. Tell me where my money is.””
The line went silent.
Then she whispered, “I don't know.””
I ended the call.
Andre leaned forward.
“Bro, we need to get that attorney on the phone.””
“I know.””
“And you need to stop letting your mom control what you know.””
I looked at him.
“I don't even know how to do that.””
“Start by finding out the truth without asking her permission.””
That was the first thing anybody had said to me all day that actually made sense.
I opened my laptop and searched for Richard Coleman. Within minutes, I found the website of a law firm in downtown Atlanta. The page listed estate planning, probate, and trust administration among its services.
A photograph showed an older Black man with silver hair and a navy suit.
Underneath his name was a telephone number.
I called.
A receptionist answered, and I explained that my grandfather, Walter Johnson, had named me as a beneficiary of a trust.
She asked for my full name and date of birth.
When I gave them to her, I heard the tapping of a keyboard.
“Mr. Johnson, please hold for a moment.””
I waited, staring at the same three words printed across the top of the loan document beside my laptop.
*PERSONAL LOAN AGREEMENT.*
A few minutes later, a man's voice came through the phone.
“Malik?””
“Yes.””
“My name is Richard Coleman. I knew your grandfather for nearly twenty years.””
I sat up.
“Did he leave me a trust worth two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?””
There was a pause.
“He established a trust in your name, yes.””
“Where is the money?””
“That's why I've been trying to reach your mother.””
My stomach tightened.
“Is it gone?””
“I don't want to speculate until we've reviewed the account records together. But I can tell you that the information your mother provided to my office doesn't match the information we have on file.””
“What information?””
“The trust was established under specific terms. Your mother was not authorized to withdraw the principal for personal or household expenses.””
I closed my eyes.
“So she took it.””
“I didn't say that, Malik. I'm telling you there are discrepancies that need to be investigated.””
“Then tell me what I need to do.””
“Can you come to my office tomorrow morning? Bring any financial documents you have, especially the loan agreement.””
I glanced at Andre.
He nodded.
“I'll be there,” I said.
Before hanging up, Mr. Coleman added something that made me stop reaching for my backpack.
“One more thing. Did your mother tell you that the trust was supposed to transfer to your control when you turned nineteen?””
I froze.
“No.””
“Your grandfather was very specific about that provision.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means the timing of your mother's recent decisions is concerning. We'll discuss the details in person.””
He gave me the appointment time.
Then he said, “Malik, I need you to be careful about signing anything until we've spoken.””
I looked at the papers spread across the table.
“I won't sign anything.””
“Good. And please don't confront anyone about the trust before we meet.””
I almost laughed.
I'd already confronted my mother. I'd already seen the forged signature. I'd already been thrown out of my home.
But if there was one thing I had learned in the last twenty-four hours, it was that every time I thought I'd reached the bottom of the truth, another door opened beneath my feet.
“I understand,” I said.
After the call, Andre drove me back to his house.
His mother had left a plate of food in the refrigerator and a clean blanket on the couch. I ate half a sandwich without tasting it, then sat with the trust documents open on my phone.
At nine that night, my mother called again.
I answered because I wanted to hear what she would say when she no longer had the opportunity to prepare an excuse.
“Malik, where are you?””
“Somewhere safe.””
“Please don't talk like that. I'm your mother.””
“Then tell me why Grandpa's attorney has been trying to reach you.””
She sighed.
“I told you, things got complicated.””
“That's not an explanation.””
“Your grandfather didn't trust me to handle the money.””
The admission came so quietly that I almost missed it.
I sat forward.
“What?””
“He and I had disagreements before he died. He thought I made too many decisions based on emotions.””
“So he put somebody else in charge.””
“Yes.””
“And you knew that.””
“Yes.””
“Then why did you tell me I only had a savings account?””
She began crying again.
“Because I didn't want you worrying about things you weren't old enough to understand.””
“I was fifteen when he died. I'm nineteen now.””
“I know.””
“Four years, Ma. You had four years to tell me.””
She didn't respond.
I heard a television in the background, followed by Darnell's voice.
“Who are you talking to?””
My mother lowered her voice.
“It's Malik.””
I heard him approach.
“Tell him he needs to stop calling this house.””
I stiffened.
“Is he listening?””
“No,” Denise whispered.
But I could hear everything.
Darnell spoke louder.
“Tell him if he reports anything to the bank, he's putting everybody in trouble.””
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it.
There it was.
Not concern for me.
Not an apology.
A warning.
I brought the phone back.
“Ma, what did Darnell do with my money?””
She started crying harder.
“Please, baby. I can't talk about this right now.””
“Then I'll talk to the attorney tomorrow.””
“No!””
Her sudden shout made me pull the phone away again.
When she spoke, her voice had changed.
“If you go to Richard Coleman, everything could fall apart.””
“What does that mean?””
“Your grandfather made arrangements that were supposed to protect us.””
“Protect you from what?””
She didn't answer.
Then I heard a door slam in the background.
Darnell's footsteps crossed the room.
“Denise, give me that phone.””
“Darnell, please—”
“Give it to me.””
A rustling sound followed.
Then his voice filled my ear.
“You need to mind your business, Malik.””
I stood up so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor.
“My business is the money in my name.””
“You don't understand what you're dealing with.””
“Then explain it.””
“Your mother made sacrifices for you. You owe her some respect.””
“Respect doesn't mean letting you steal from me.””
He went quiet.
When he spoke again, his voice was low and controlled.
“You keep pushing, and you might find out you have a lot less family than you think.””
I looked at the loan agreement on the table.
“You already made sure of that.””
I hung up.
My hands were shaking, but this time I wasn't going to call back.
I saved the time of the call in a note on my phone and wrote down exactly what Darnell had said. Then I photographed the documents again and emailed them to the new account I had created.
Andre watched me from the doorway.
“You okay?””
“No.””
He nodded.
“Fair enough.””
I sat down on the couch.
“Do you think my mom knows what he did?””
Andre took a moment before answering.
“I think she knows more than she's telling you.””
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to say she was scared, that she was trapped, that Darnell had manipulated her until she couldn't tell right from wrong.
But I remembered the way she had looked at me in the living room.
The way she had glanced at him before answering my questions.
The way she had told me to leave.
“I think you're right,” I whispered.
That night, I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my belongings lined up beside the front door. I heard my mother's voice saying I was grown, as though adulthood meant I no longer deserved a place in the home where I had grown up.
At 6:30 the next morning, I got dressed.
I put on my gray Lakers hoodie, tied my white sneakers, and adjusted the yellow headband over my cornrows.
Then I packed the financial documents into a folder.
Andre drove me downtown.
Richard Coleman's office occupied the third floor of a brick building overlooking a busy Atlanta street. Inside, everything was quiet, polished, and orderly. A receptionist offered me water, but I couldn't make myself drink it.
At 9:02, a door opened.
A silver-haired man in a navy suit stepped into the waiting area.
“Malik Johnson?””
I stood.
“That's me.””
He shook my hand and studied my face for a moment.
“You look a great deal like your grandfather.””
I'd heard that before.
Usually, it comforted me.
This time, it made my chest ache.
Mr. Coleman led me into his office, closed the door, and motioned toward a chair.
I placed the folder on his desk.
He opened it, examined the loan agreement, and took off his glasses.
“I'm afraid this is more serious than I hoped.””
My throat tightened.
“Tell me.””
He turned toward his computer.
Then he opened a document and rotated the screen so I could see it.
At the top was my grandfather's name.
Below it was a trust summary.
And near the bottom, highlighted in yellow, was a transaction that had never been mentioned to me.
Mr. Coleman looked me directly in the eye.
“Malik, three weeks ago, someone submitted a request to transfer the remaining trust assets into a private account.””
I stared at him.
“Who?””
He turned the screen slightly farther toward me.
The name beside the request wasn't Darnell's.
It was my mother's.
But the signature authorizing the transfer belonged to someone else.
Someone who had no legal authority to touch my grandfather's money.
Mr. Coleman pointed at the signature.
“Before we discuss the missing funds, I need to ask you something.””
I swallowed.
“What?””
“Have you ever heard of a man named Curtis Bell?””
The name meant nothing to me.
I shook my head.
May you like
Mr. Coleman leaned back, looking more troubled than before.
“Your grandfather left very specific instructions about that man. And if Curtis Bell is involved in what happened to your trust, then your mother may not be the only person who has been lying to you.””
