Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Wedding
Dad didn't say another word.
He simply held the phone while Marcus breathed heavily on the other end.
Mom stood beside him, one hand pressed against the marble countertop.
I moved closer.
"Marcus," Dad finally said, "I asked you a question. Whose name did you use?""
"Mine.""
Dad looked at the invoice.
"Then why is your mother's information listed as the guarantor?""
There was a long pause.
"What?""
"Your mother's name, her address, and her phone number. They're all here.""
Mom snatched the phone from Dad.
"Marcus, did you put my information on a contract?""
"Mom, please.""
"Did you?""
"I was going to tell you!""
She closed her eyes.
"Tell me what?""
Marcus lowered his voice.
"I needed to secure the venue before somebody else took the date.""
Dad took the phone back.
"And you thought the best way to do that was to put your mother's name on a financial agreement without her permission?""
"It's not like that.""
"Then explain it.""
Marcus sighed.
On the other end, I could hear a car engine starting.
"We're driving right now. Can we talk about this later?""
"No," Dad said.
"You can talk now.""
Jasmine's voice suddenly came through the background.
"Marcus, just tell them.""
He snapped at her.
"Stay out of this.""
That was enough for Mom.
"Don't speak to your wife like that.""
Marcus went quiet.
Dad ended the call.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Mom took the invoice and read every line.
The venue was an exclusive event space downtown. The deposit had been paid six weeks earlier.
Six weeks before the wedding.
Six weeks before Marcus had told us he was still comparing locations.
I remembered that conversation clearly.
He had been sitting in the living room, scrolling through pictures of expensive venues.
Dad had asked him whether he had checked the prices.
Marcus had laughed.
"Don't worry, Dad. We're keeping everything reasonable.""
Now we knew what reasonable meant to him.
Mom sat down and pressed her fingers against her forehead.
"I can't believe he used my information.""
Dad walked toward the dining room.
"I'm calling the venue.""
"Wait," I said.
"What if there's more?""
Dad stopped.
I picked up the invoice and examined the attached paperwork.
There were several pages, including a payment schedule.
The first deposit was listed as paid.
The remaining balance was due within thirty days.
But something else caught my attention.
The billing contact was not Marcus.
It was a woman named Rebecca Carter.
My mother's full legal name.
"Mom," I said quietly, "did you ever sign anything for this?""
She looked at the paper.
"No.""
"Did you give him your identification?""
"No.""
Dad returned to the island.
"What's going on?""
I showed him the signature page.
There was a signature at the bottom.
It looked like Mom's.
But something about it was wrong.
The capital R was too rounded.
My mother always wrote her name with a sharp, distinctive first stroke.
Dad stared at it.
"That's not your signature.""
Mom took the paper.
Her hands began to tremble.
"No," she whispered.
"It isn't.""
For the first time that morning, she looked genuinely frightened.
Dad immediately contacted the venue and explained that the financial guarantee was disputed.
The manager agreed to send the original electronic agreement and the associated authorization records.
While we waited, Mom walked upstairs.
She returned ten minutes later holding a small folder.
"There's something else," she said.
Inside were copies of Marcus's identification documents, old school records, and several financial statements.
Mom had kept everything organized for years.
She pulled out a bank statement.
Then another.
Then a third.
"I've been checking his spending," she said.
"Not because I wanted to control him. Because he kept asking for money.""
Dad looked at the dates.
"How much?""
Mom shook her head.
"I don't know yet.""
I sat down beside her and started adding the transfers.
One thousand dollars.
Eight hundred.
Two thousand.
Another fifteen hundred.
The payments stretched across several months.
Some were labeled tuition.
Others were labeled rent.
A few were simply marked as personal assistance.
The total was much larger than I expected.
And every payment had gone to an account Marcus controlled.
"Maybe he was saving it," I said.
Dad gave me a look.
"Then why did he tell us he had no money for an apartment?""
Nobody had an answer.
At that moment, Mom's phone rang.
It was Jasmine.
Mom answered immediately.
"Jasmine?""
There was crying on the other end.
"Mrs. Carter, I'm sorry.""
Mom stood up.
"What happened?""
"We're at a gas station. Marcus is angry, and he won't tell me where we're going.""
"Where are you?""
"I don't know exactly. Somewhere outside town.""
Mom glanced at Dad.
"Are you safe?""
Jasmine hesitated.
"Yes. He's just upset.""
"Do you have somewhere to stay?""
"No.""
Mom's expression softened.
"Listen to me. You can come back here if you need to. But we need honesty. No more stories.""
Jasmine started crying harder.
"I didn't know.""
Mom closed her eyes.
"Didn't know what?""
"He told me he had savings. He told me he was paying for our apartment himself.""
I looked at Dad.
He motioned for me to turn on the speaker.
Jasmine continued.
"He said his parents were helping because they wanted to, but that he was handling most of it.""
Mom spoke carefully.
"Jasmine, did you know about the money from the wedding?""
"No. I thought the venue was paid for.""
"Did Marcus tell you your name was on any contracts?""
"No.""
There was a pause.
Then Jasmine said something that made Dad straighten.
"There's something else I need to tell you.""
Mom sat down.
"What is it?""
"Marcus has been receiving money from someone.""
Dad frowned.
"Who?""
"I don't know her personally. But I saw messages on his phone.""
"What kind of messages?""
Jasmine sniffed.
"She said she was tired of waiting for him to pay her back.""
The room became silent.
Dad leaned toward the phone.
"How much money does he owe her?""
"I don't know. But when I asked him, he said it was none of my business.""
Mom's voice became quieter.
"Jasmine, when did you see these messages?""
"Last night.""
"And what did he tell you?""
"He said it was an old friend.""
I looked at the wedding photographs scattered across the kitchen counter.
Marcus smiling.
Jasmine holding his hand.
Our parents standing proudly beside them.
Everything looked perfect.
But beneath those photographs was a story none of us had known.
"Jasmine," Mom said, "I need you to do something for me.""
"What?""
"Don't sign anything else. Don't agree to pay anything on his behalf. And don't let him use your information.""
"Okay.""
"And if you feel unsafe, call us.""
Jasmine began crying again.
"I don't know what to do.""
Mom looked at Dad.
Then she answered.
"Start by telling the truth.""
The call ended.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Dad's phone rang.
The venue manager had sent the original contract.
Dad opened the attachment.
His eyes moved across the first page.
Then the second.
Then he stopped.
"Rebecca.""
Mom looked up.
"What?""
Dad turned the screen toward her.
The contract included a digital authorization timestamp.
The signature had been entered from a device registered to Marcus.
And beneath it was a declaration stating that the guarantor had personally approved the payment arrangement.
Mom covered her mouth.
"He's been lying about this for weeks.""
Dad's jaw tightened.
He called the venue again and requested that the contract be flagged for review.
Then he called his bank.
The manager asked for additional documentation before proceeding with the dispute.
It was becoming clear that this was no longer simply a family argument.
Marcus had potentially created a financial problem that could follow our parents long after the wedding was over.
Meanwhile, Jasmine called again.
This time, she was calmer.
"Mrs. Carter, can I ask you something?""
"Of course.""
"Did Marcus ever tell you that he was planning to move out before the wedding?""
Mom frowned.
"No. He told us he was saving.""
"Because he told me he had already found a place.""
"Where?""
Jasmine gave us the address.
I recognized it immediately.
It was a luxury apartment building less than ten minutes from downtown.
Dad searched the address.
The monthly rent was almost three thousand dollars.
He looked at Mom.
"That's more than Marcus makes in a month.""
Jasmine continued.
"He said the first six months were already covered.""
Dad closed his eyes.
"By whom?""
"I don't know.""
Mom asked gently, "Did you see a lease?""
"Yes. He showed it to me.""
"Was it signed?""
"I think so.""
Dad immediately requested that Jasmine send us a photograph of the document.
A few minutes later, the image arrived.
I zoomed in.
The apartment was real.
The lease was real.
But the listed tenant wasn't Marcus.
It was someone else.
A woman.
*Victoria Hayes.*
Jasmine's voice shook.
"Mrs. Carter, do you know who that is?""
Mom stared at the name.
Then she slowly looked at Dad.
"No," she whispered.
Dad shook his head.
But I noticed something strange.
He wasn't looking at the lease anymore.
He was looking at the apartment address.
"Daniel," he said quietly, "find out when that building was rented.""
I pulled up the public listing.
The apartment had been occupied for nearly four months.
Four months.
Marcus had been married to Jasmine for three days.
And he had been planning a household with someone else long before the wedding.
Then Jasmine sent another message.
It contained a photograph.
A photograph of Marcus standing outside the apartment building.
His arm was around a woman wearing a red dress.
And the date on the picture was two weeks before his wedding.
Mom stared at it.
Dad slowly placed his phone on the counter.
Neither of them spoke.
Because the question was no longer where Marcus and Jasmine would live.
The question was why Marcus had married Jasmine while apparently maintaining another life.
And then my phone buzzed.
An unknown number had sent me a message.
*"If you want to know what your brother has really been doing, ask your father about the money he transferred last December.""*
I looked up.
Dad noticed my expression.
"What's wrong?""
I showed him the message.
For the first time that day, my father looked afraid.
Not angry.
May you like
Afraid.
Because he knew exactly what that transfer was.
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