Chapter 7: The Father Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
My mother looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
The photograph lay on the floor between us.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she grabbed my wrist.
"Don't let him come upstairs.""
I stared at her.
"Who?""
She looked toward the entrance.
"Your father.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"You just told me he was dead.""
"I know what I told you.""
"Then why is someone downstairs claiming to be my father?""
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Nia, please. Not here.""
I pulled my wrist away.
"No. You don't get to do that anymore.""
She glanced toward the guests.
The birthday celebration was beginning to fall apart. Several people had noticed her expression. Aunt Denise was watching us from across the room.
I picked up the photograph.
The man standing beside my mother was older than I remembered, but I recognized the shape of his face.
The same dark eyes.
The same sharp jaw.
The same small scar above his left eyebrow.
My father.
David Carter.
I'd seen his photograph hundreds of times growing up.
My mother had told me he died in a car accident when I was twelve.
She'd even taken me to his grave.
I remembered the cold cemetery grass beneath my shoes. I remembered crying while she held my shoulders.
And I remembered asking whether Daddy could hear me.
She'd told me he could.
Now she was telling me he'd been alive all along.
I looked at her.
"Where is he?""
My mother shook her head.
"Please don't do this.""
"Where is he?""
Aunt Denise approached.
"Evelyn, what's happened?""
My mother turned sharply.
"Nothing.""
Denise looked at the photograph in my hand.
Her expression changed.
"Good Lord.""
I turned toward her.
"You know him?""
Denise looked at my mother.
Then back at me.
"I haven't seen David in years.""
My throat tightened.
"You knew he was alive?""
She lowered her eyes.
That was enough.
I stepped backward.
"How many people knew?""
Neither woman answered.
I felt something inside me collapse.
My entire childhood had suddenly become a collection of lies.
The father I'd mourned.
The grave I'd visited.
The stories my mother told about how much he loved me.
All of it.
I looked toward the entrance.
"Bring him upstairs.""
My mother grabbed my arm again.
"Nia, you don't understand.""
"Then explain it.""
"He'll destroy everything.""
I stared at her.
"What is there left to destroy?""
Before she could answer, Patricia appeared beside us.
"Mrs. Carter, the gentleman is waiting in the lobby.""
I turned.
"Please bring him up.""
My mother shook her head.
"Don't.""
I looked directly at her.
"He's my father. I have a right to see him.""
Patricia nodded and walked away.
My mother sank into a chair.
Claire appeared beside her.
"Mom, what's going on?""
My mother whispered something to her.
Claire's face went white.
I turned toward my sister.
"You knew too?""
She shook her head.
"Not everything.""
"What does that mean?""
She looked at our mother.
"Mom told me Daddy was alive, but she said he didn't want to see us.""
I stared at her.
"When?""
"Years ago.""
"How many years?""
Claire hesitated.
"About five.""
Five years.
My mother had known.
My sister had known.
And Marcus probably knew too.
I looked at Claire.
"Did you know he was funding Raymond Pike?""
She didn't answer.
Then the elevator doors opened.
A man stepped into the hallway.
He was wearing a dark navy suit and carrying a black leather briefcase.
His hair was almost entirely gray.
He walked slowly, looking around the restaurant as if he hadn't been there in decades.
Then his eyes found me.
He stopped.
"Nia?""
His voice was softer than I expected.
I couldn't move.
He took another step.
"My God. You've grown up.""
I stared at him.
"You're supposed to be dead.""
He lowered his eyes.
"I know.""
"Why?""
He looked at my mother.
Evelyn stood.
"David, you shouldn't have come.""
He gave her a tired smile.
"You've been avoiding my calls for three weeks.""
"This is not the time.""
He looked at me again.
"I know you have questions.""
I laughed bitterly.
"Questions? I've spent twenty years believing my father was buried in a cemetery.""
His face tightened.
"I'm sorry.""
"Sorry?""
He nodded.
"I was wrong to disappear.""
I looked at my mother.
"Which one of you decided to bury him while he was still alive?""
Neither answered.
Then David placed his briefcase on a nearby table.
"I didn't die in an accident. I left Atlanta after a business dispute. Your mother and I were separating, and I made a terrible decision.""
"You abandoned us.""
He swallowed.
"Yes.""
"Why?""
He looked toward the windows.
"I thought leaving was the only way to protect you.""
I shook my head.
"That's what people say when they don't want to admit they chose themselves.""
He didn't argue.
My mother crossed her arms.
"You don't get to come here and pretend you're the victim.""
David turned toward her.
"I'm not pretending anything.""
"You disappeared.""
"Because you told me I would never see the children again if I stayed.""
My mother laughed sharply.
"That's a lie.""
He opened his briefcase.
"I have the letters.""
She froze.
He removed a folder and placed it on the table.
Inside were envelopes, bank statements, and copies of old correspondence.
I picked up one of the envelopes.
My name was written on the front.
Nia.
The handwriting was unfamiliar but beautiful.
I opened it.
The letter was dated sixteen years earlier.
It was addressed to me on my sixteenth birthday.
My father had written about wanting to see me, about missing my school performances, and about keeping photographs of me on his desk.
He had enclosed a small birthday card.
At the bottom, he'd written:
I hope one day you understand that leaving was the worst mistake I ever made.
I looked at him.
"You wrote this?""
He nodded.
"Every year.""
I opened the folder.
There were dozens of letters.
Birthday cards.
Christmas messages.
Graduation congratulations.
Some were addressed to Claire.
Others to Marcus.
None had ever reached us.
I turned toward my mother.
"You hid these?""
She began crying.
"I was protecting you.""
"From what? A father who wanted to know his children?""
My mother wiped her cheeks.
"He wasn't the man you remember.""
David spoke quietly.
"Evelyn, tell her the truth.""
My mother glared at him.
"Stay out of this.""
He opened another section of the folder.
"There is something else you need to know, Nia.""
He placed a bank statement on the table.
It showed several transfers from an account belonging to a company called Carter Holdings.
The transactions dated back more than fifteen years.
I studied the figures.
"What am I looking at?""
"Money your father set aside for you and your siblings.""
My mother looked away.
David continued.
"I established a family trust before I left Atlanta. It was intended to support your education, provide a financial foundation, and eventually help you purchase your first home.""
I stared at him.
"How much?""
He paused.
"The original trust was worth approximately six hundred thousand dollars.""
I looked at my mother.
She was crying silently now.
"Where is it?""
David closed his eyes.
"That's what I've been trying to find out.""
He placed another document on the table.
The account had been closed eight years earlier.
The remaining balance had been transferred to a private company.
I recognized the company name.
Carter Financial Services.
My mother's former business.
I looked at her.
"You took the trust?""
She shook her head.
"It wasn't that simple.""
David's voice hardened.
"It was exactly that simple. You withdrew the funds without authorization.""
My mother stood.
"You have no idea what I was dealing with!""
"I know you used the money.""
"I raised those children!""
"And I funded the trust for them.""
She pointed at him.
"You abandoned us and left me with everything!""
David didn't raise his voice.
"I sent money every month.""
My mother went silent.
He placed another document on the table.
A record of transfers.
Monthly payments.
Medical expenses.
School fees.
Mortgage contributions.
I looked at the dates.
Some payments had continued until I was twenty-three.
My mother had always told me we had barely survived after my father's death.
She'd told us she worked three jobs to keep food on the table.
But the records showed something different.
She had received financial support for years.
I felt sick.
"Mom, you told me we were struggling.""
She covered her face.
"I had expenses.""
"What expenses?""
She didn't answer.
David looked at me.
"Your mother used part of the trust to finance a business. When it failed, she moved the remaining money through several accounts.""
My mother's voice rose.
"And where were you? You weren't here!""
He lowered his eyes.
"You're right. I wasn't.""
For a moment, I saw genuine regret on his face.
Then he turned toward me.
"But I didn't come here to argue with her.""
He opened his briefcase again and removed a sealed envelope.
"I came because Raymond Pike contacted me.""
I stared at him.
"Why?""
"Because your brother borrowed money from him.""
"And you know Raymond?""
David nodded.
"He's a former business associate.""
My mother began shaking her head.
"David, don't.""
He ignored her.
"Raymond discovered that Marcus was using your property as security for a loan. He contacted me because he believed the transaction was connected to an older financial arrangement.""
"What arrangement?""
David looked directly at me.
"Your mother's debt isn't the only debt connected to the Carter family.""
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of a document bearing my name.
It was dated eleven years earlier.
I recognized the signature immediately.
It was mine.
But I hadn't signed it.
David placed the document beside the property authorization.
"This is the reason Raymond believes he has a claim against you.""
I stared at the page.
The heading read:
*IRREVOCABLE BENEFICIARY AND ASSET ASSIGNMENT AGREEMENT.*
My name appeared beneath the words PRIMARY BENEFICIARY.
My mother's signature was listed as witness.
And at the bottom was a clause that made my blood run cold.
If the agreement was valid, I could be responsible for certain obligations connected to the family trust.
I looked at my father.
"What did she do?""
He answered quietly.
"Eleven years ago, your mother used your identity to transfer control of the remaining trust assets.""
I turned toward Evelyn.
She was crying now.
But I couldn't feel sorry for her.
Not anymore.
I picked up the document.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me since the first moment I saw my father's face.
"Why did you let me mourn you?""
My mother looked at me.
Her lips trembled.
May you like
And then she whispered:
"Because if you knew your father was alive, you might have asked him about the money.""
