Chapter 4: My Mother Was His Next Target
“Mom, listen to me carefully. Do not sign anything Marcus gives you.””
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
On the other end of the phone, Patricia Bennett went quiet. I could hear the television playing softly in her living room, followed by the familiar squeak of her kitchen chair.
“Lauren, you're frightening me,” she said.
“Marcus told me you two were planning something special. He said the paperwork was connected to a house you wanted to buy together.””
I closed my eyes.
A house.
Another lie wrapped in a promise about our future.
“Mom, I have never agreed to buy a house with him. I haven't signed any loan documents. If he brings you anything, don't touch it.””
“But he said your signature was already on the application.””
My stomach twisted.
“That's exactly the problem.””
There was a long pause.
Then my mother asked the question I had been dreading.
“Lauren, is he cheating on you?””
I looked through the glass patio doors toward the swimming pool where I had caught Marcus with Brianna less than an hour earlier.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And I think he's been stealing from me.””
My mother didn't gasp. She didn't immediately ask what I had done wrong or whether I was sure.
She simply said, “Come home, sweetheart.””
Those three words nearly broke me.
For three years, I had told my family that Marcus was the man I would marry. I had defended him when my brother questioned why he never seemed to have money despite claiming to earn a substantial income. I had reassured my mother when she noticed that I was paying for nearly every family dinner.
I had made excuses because admitting the truth meant admitting how much I had ignored.
“I'll explain everything,” I promised.
“There's something else,” Mom said.
My heart began pounding again.
“What?””
“Marcus didn't call me from his usual number. He called from a number I didn't recognize. He said his phone was being repaired.””
I wrote that down.
“Did he tell you the name of the company?””
“He said Bennett Family Ventures.””
I gripped the pen.
“Did he ask you to be an owner?””
“He asked whether I would be willing to serve as a temporary director. He said it was a simple arrangement that would help you qualify for a mortgage.””
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
“Did he send you any documents?””
“Yes. An email.””
“Forward it to me. Don't reply to him.””
“Lauren, he sounded so convincing.””
“I know, Mom.””
That was the worst part.
I knew exactly how convincing Marcus could be.
After we hung up, I forwarded the bank investigator's information to my mother and asked her to save every message Marcus had sent. Then I called Dana Collins back.
She answered immediately.
“Ms. Bennett, have you spoken with your mother?””
“Yes. She hasn't signed anything.””
“Good. Please tell her not to sign any documents or provide identification until our investigation is complete. We also recommend that you contact your own attorney.””
“I will. Can you tell me how this company was registered?””
“Not all the records are available to me, but I can provide the public filing information and the documents submitted to our institution through the proper process.””
“Please do.””
I glanced toward the front door.
Marcus had left, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still somehow inside my life, moving pieces around while I tried to understand the board.
Dana continued.
“One more thing. The loan application included an email address that appears to belong to you.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Which address?””
She read it aloud.
It was my old email address, the one I had stopped using nearly two years earlier.
I had kept the account open because it contained photographs and family messages. Marcus knew the password because, early in our relationship, he had helped me recover it after I was locked out.
“I haven't used that account in years,” I told her.
“Then I recommend securing it immediately. If you believe someone accessed it without permission, document that and report it.””
We ended the call.
I went upstairs, locked the bedroom door, and opened my old email account.
The password worked.
For one hopeful second, I thought that meant nothing had happened.
Then I saw the sent folder.
Emails I had never written were sitting there, addressed to mortgage brokers, financial institutions, and a company registered in Georgia.
One message read:
Attached are the requested personal financial documents. Marcus Reed is authorized to coordinate the remaining details on my behalf.
My name appeared beneath it.
My hands began to shake.
I opened the attachment.
A copy of my driver's license.
My tax return.
A bank statement.
Documents I had once sent Marcus because he told me his accountant needed them to calculate our household expenses.
I scrolled down to the next email.
It had been sent seven months earlier.
Please proceed with the application. We are hoping to finalize everything before the end of the quarter.
I stared at the timestamp.
That had been the week Marcus took me to a fancy restaurant in Atlanta and told me he had finally landed a major client.
He had raised his glass and promised that our struggles were almost over.
I had cried happy tears in the parking garage afterward.
I had thought our future was beginning.
Instead, he had been using my identity while I celebrated his supposed success.
A knock sounded against the bedroom door.
I jumped.
“Lauren?”” Mr. Whitmore called.
“May I speak with you?””
I opened the door.
He stood in the hallway holding his briefcase.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right.””
“I'm not,” I admitted.
He nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
“I understand. I also wanted to inform you that Mr. Reed has attempted to contact our managing director several times.””
“About the house?””
“About the termination notice, primarily. He has also asked whether the company would reconsider its decision if he provided additional documentation.””
“Can he get back inside?””
“His authorization has been revoked, and the security credentials are being changed. Any further access would require approval from the property owner.””
I exhaled.
At least one thing in my life was finally being handled by someone who knew what he was doing.
“Mr. Whitmore, why was the occupancy agreement terminated today? Was it only because of the expense report?””
He hesitated.
“No. The expense report prompted a broader review. We found discrepancies in the records Mr.
Reed had submitted to justify certain payments. The managing director then discovered that a separate company connected to Mr. Reed had attempted to use our property's address in a financing application.””
I went still.
“Bennett Family Ventures?””
“I can't confirm that without reviewing the documents. But the address issue was serious enough to warrant immediate action.””
I looked at the papers scattered across the desk.
“Did Marcus use the mansion as collateral?””
“Not to my knowledge. But you should ask your attorney to investigate any financial documents bearing your name.””
I nodded.
After Mr. Whitmore left, I called an attorney recommended by a former colleague. Her name was Evelyn Price, and she specialized in financial disputes and identity-related fraud.
She agreed to meet me the following morning.
“Don't confront him about the loan again tonight,” Evelyn advised over the phone.
“Preserve what you have. Secure your accounts. Change passwords from a device he cannot access, and contact your bank about protecting the joint account.””
“What if he contacts my mother?””
“Tell her not to sign anything. If he threatens or pressures her, preserve those communications, too.””
I followed her instructions as carefully as I could.
Then, at 9:14 p.m., my phone lit up.
Marcus.
I let it ring.
He called again.
Then came a text.
*We need to talk. You're making a terrible mistake.*
Another message followed.
*Your mother is going to get hurt by this if you keep pushing.*
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I immediately took screenshots and sent them to Evelyn.
Then I called my mother.
“He texted me,” I said.
“He's talking about you.””
“Don't worry about me,” she replied.
“I've lived long enough to recognize a man trying to frighten a woman into doing what he wants.””
Despite everything, I laughed.
“That sounds like you.””
“Your father would have thrown him off the porch.””
“Dad would have made him mow the lawn first.””
We shared a brief, shaky laugh.
Then my mother grew serious.
“Lauren, there's something I didn't tell you.””
I sat down.
“What?””
“When Marcus visited last month, he asked me about your father's life insurance.””
The room seemed to tilt.
“My father's what?””
“His life insurance policy. Marcus said he was helping you organize your future finances. He asked whether the beneficiary arrangements had ever been updated.””
My father had died six years earlier. His policy had paid off the remaining mortgage on my mother's house and left her a modest amount of money to live on.
It was supposed to keep her safe.
“Did you give him anything?””
“No. I told him those were family matters. He smiled and said he understood.””
I pressed a hand against my forehead.
“Mom, did he ever see the paperwork?””
“He asked where I kept it. I didn't tell him.””
I stared at the wall.
Marcus hadn't simply been careless with my trust.
He had been looking for access to everything that mattered to me.
My money.
My identity.
My mother's home.
My father's legacy.
And I had no idea how far he had gone.
At 10:02 p.m., an email arrived from Dana Collins.
The subject line read:
*URGENT — ADDITIONAL DOCUMENT DISCOVERED.*
I opened it.
The attached document was a beneficiary designation form connected to a financial account.
My mother's name appeared at the top.
My name appeared beneath it.
And beside my name was a signature I had never written.
But it was the handwritten date in the corner that made my blood run cold.
The form had been submitted only three days earlier.
While Marcus was kissing me goodbye in the morning.
While he was telling me we would spend the weekend planning our future.
While I was still foolish enough to believe that the man beside me was the safest place in the world.
I called Evelyn immediately.
When she answered, I could barely get the words out.
“He's been using my name.””
“On what?””
I looked at the document again.
“I don't know how many things yet.””
Then I noticed the account number at the bottom.
It belonged to a financial institution I recognized.
One where my mother had kept a small investment account for years.
I called her.
“Mom, tomorrow morning, we're going to the bank together.””
“Why?””
“Because I think Marcus has been trying to get his hands on your money, too.””
May you like
And as I stared at the forged signature, one terrifying question kept circling my mind.
If Marcus had already begun changing financial documents without our knowledge, what else had he arranged while we were busy trusting him?
