Chapter 1: The Second Recording
"What happened last Thursday?""
My father looked at me, his bruised cheek still red from the slap I had given him.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he glanced at Vanessa.
"Your wife locked me in the basement.""
The words landed like a physical blow.
I stared at him.
"What?""
Vanessa immediately shook her head.
"That's ridiculous! Arthur, how dare you?""
Dad didn't raise his voice.
"I came here to bring Marcus some documents. You told me he wasn't home. When I tried to leave, you locked the basement door from the outside.""
I turned toward Vanessa.
"Is that true?""
She laughed nervously.
"Marcus, he's confused. He's seventy years old. Sometimes he forgets things.""
Dad's jaw tightened.
"I remember spending two hours in that basement with a broken heating pipe dripping water onto my shoes.""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"He was snooping around.""
"Snooping?"" I repeated.
Dad pointed toward the leather folder he'd been holding earlier.
"I brought you the original paperwork for the company. I wanted to discuss something important before you signed the documents your wife prepared.""
My stomach tightened.
"What documents?""
Vanessa stepped between us.
"Marcus, this is exactly why I didn't want him involved in our marriage. He constantly interferes. He thinks because he gave you money when you started your company, he owns your life.""
Dad lowered his eyes.
I knew that look.
He wasn't embarrassed.
He was trying not to lose his temper.
"Son," he said quietly, "open last Thursday's recording.""
I tapped the event history.
The video loaded.
At first, I saw my father walking through the kitchen carrying his leather folder.
Vanessa appeared from the hallway.
She looked directly toward the camera.
Then she pointed toward the basement.
Dad shook his head.
Even without audio, I could understand that he didn't want to go.
Vanessa approached him.
She grabbed his sleeve.
He pulled away.
Then she opened the basement door and gestured impatiently.
My father reluctantly walked down the stairs.
Vanessa followed.
The door closed.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then she came back upstairs alone.
She stood in the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and checked her phone.
A minute later, she walked back to the basement.
She returned carrying Dad's leather folder.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What is she doing?"" I whispered.
The recording continued.
Vanessa placed the folder on the dining table.
She opened it.
Removed several papers.
Photographed them with her phone.
Then she took something from her purse.
A small black flash drive.
She inserted it into my laptop.
My laptop.
The one I'd left on the dining table.
She spent nearly twelve minutes copying files.
Then she removed the flash drive, closed the folder, and returned it to the basement.
A few minutes later, she opened the door.
Dad climbed out slowly.
His trousers were wet around the ankles.
He looked exhausted.
Vanessa pointed toward the front door.
Dad said something.
She shook her head.
Then she pushed the leather folder against his chest.
He left without looking back.
The video ended.
I couldn't speak.
Vanessa stood motionless beside the sofa.
"Explain this," I said.
She shook her head.
"I can explain.""
"Then explain.""
"He was trying to steal your business documents!""
"Why did you lock him in the basement?""
"Because he wouldn't leave!""
"Why were you copying files from my laptop?""
Her expression changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
"I was protecting you.""
I let out a bitter laugh.
"From my own father?""
"Marcus, you have no idea what he's capable of.""
Dad finally spoke.
"Ask her what she copied.""
Vanessa turned toward him.
"Shut up!""
It was the first time I'd ever heard her speak to my father like that.
He didn't flinch.
He simply looked at me.
"There's something else.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"Please, Dad. I don't know how much more I can take.""
He opened the leather folder.
Inside were several printed pages, a bank statement, and a document bearing my company's name.
He placed them on the coffee table.
"Three weeks ago, I received a letter from the bank. Someone had submitted a request to change the authorized signatories on your company's primary account.""
I picked up the document.
My name appeared at the bottom.
So did Vanessa's.
But I had never signed it.
"This isn't my signature.""
Dad nodded.
"I know.""
Vanessa stepped forward.
"Those are private business matters. You shouldn't have those papers.""
Dad ignored her.
"I took them to a handwriting specialist. The signature was forged.""
My mouth went dry.
I looked at my wife.
"Did you forge my signature?""
"Absolutely not!""
"Then why is your name on this application?""
"Because you asked me to help manage the company!""
"I never asked you to change the bank account.""
She stared at me.
For the first time, she seemed unable to find the right words.
Dad continued.
"I contacted the bank and requested that they freeze the application. That's why she was so angry last Thursday.""
I looked at the recording again.
The basement.
The folder.
The flash drive.
Everything suddenly seemed connected.
"What was on that drive?"" I asked.
Dad shook his head.
"I don't know. But whatever it was, she didn't want me seeing it.""
Vanessa grabbed her purse.
"I'm leaving.""
"Sit down.""
She glared at me.
"Excuse me?""
"I said sit down.""
"Don't you dare talk to me like I'm some criminal!""
I stepped away from her.
"Then stop behaving like one.""
She stared at me for several seconds before storming toward the staircase.
Dad reached for my arm.
"Don't stop her.""
I looked at him.
"Why?""
"Because I think she already knows we found something.""
I watched Vanessa disappear upstairs.
A moment later, a door slammed.
Then Dad handed me another piece of paper.
It was a printed bank transaction.
A payment of $85,000 had been scheduled to an unfamiliar company.
The transaction date was the following Monday.
I read the recipient's name twice.
Bennett Property Holdings LLC.
I frowned.
"What's this?""
Dad's face became unusually serious.
"I looked into it. That company was registered six months ago.""
"Who owns it?""
He hesitated.
Then he turned the paper around.
The registered owner was Vanessa Bennett.
My wife.
And the payment was scheduled to come directly from my construction company's operating account.
I looked toward the staircase.
Suddenly, the woman upstairs didn't feel like the woman I'd married.
And I realized the slap I'd given my father might not have been the worst thing Vanessa had planned for our family.
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Because someone had been preparing to steal my company.
And she had already started.
