Chapter 3: The Message She Couldn't Explain
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the hum of the refrigerator through the open kitchen door.
David.
David Mitchell had been Tasha's former boyfriend.
I knew that much. She had mentioned him during our first year together, describing him as a controlling man who had never appreciated her.
She claimed they had broken up long before we met.
I had believed her.
Now his name glowed on her phone, followed by a message telling her to keep a secret from me.
I held out my hand again.
“Let me see the message.””
Tasha shook her head.
“It's not what you think.””
I almost smiled at the familiarity of those words.
“Then explain what it is.””
“Marcus, please. Not right now.””
“When would be a good time? Tomorrow? Next week? Another four years from now?””
She flinched.
Nicole quietly closed the folder.
“Marcus, I'll give you two some privacy.””
“No,” I said.
“Stay.””
Tasha looked at her sharply.
“This is a private relationship issue.””
Nicole slipped the folder under her arm.
“I'm not interested in your relationship. But I am concerned about the message you received immediately after Marcus asked about a financial secret.””
Tasha's face tightened.
“You have no right to interfere.””
“Then answer his question.””
Tasha looked at me.
Her eyes were wet now, but I couldn't tell whether she was afraid of losing me or afraid of what I might discover.
She finally lowered the phone.
“David has been contacting me for months.””
The words seemed to settle over the backyard like a heavy blanket.
I asked the obvious question.
“Why?””
“He wants money.””
“From you?””
She hesitated.
“From both of us.””
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“Both of us?””
Tasha started crying.
“I didn't want this to happen.””
“Then help me understand. What money does David think he can get from me?””
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Last year, when you were working on those rental properties, I told him about your business.””
I stared at her.
“You told your ex-boyfriend about my business?””
“I was angry with you.””
“Why?””
“Because you were always working. You'd leave before sunrise, come home exhausted, and spend half the evening answering calls. I felt like I was living alone.””
I let out a slow breath.
“So you told him about my company because you were angry that I was working?””
“I didn't think it would matter!””
“What did you tell him?””
She looked toward the house.
“That your company was growing. That you were buying properties. That you had money in business accounts.””
I glanced at Nicole.
She had gone very still.
“Tasha,” I said, keeping my voice level, “how much did you tell him?””
“I don't remember.””
“Try.””
“Marcus, I was just talking. David asked questions, and I answered some of them. It wasn't a big deal.””
“Did you give him my bank information?””
“No!””
“Did you give him documents?””
“No.””
Her answer came too quickly.
I took a step toward her.
“Look at me.””
She raised her eyes.
“Did you give David any of my business documents?””
Tasha's lips trembled.
“Not yours.””
The words hit me harder than a confession would have.
“Whose documents?””
She said nothing.
Nicole set the folder on the outdoor table.
“Marcus, I think we need to separate two issues. The property paperwork is one thing. Whatever Tasha is describing could involve a financial or legal matter, depending on what she actually did.””
Tasha shook her head.
“Nothing illegal happened.””
I turned toward her.
“Then tell me what happened.””
She drew a shaky breath.
“David said he knew people who could help your business get bigger. He said he could introduce you to investors.””
I remembered the previous autumn.
A man had contacted me through a professional networking site, claiming to represent a private investment group interested in residential redevelopment. He had asked for financial projections and information about properties I intended to purchase.
I had declined to share confidential records without a formal agreement.
At the time, I assumed he was simply another person fishing for information.
I hadn't connected him to Tasha.
“Was that David?”” I asked.
She nodded.
My stomach tightened.
“What did you send him?””
“Some screenshots.””
“Of what?””
“Your project estimates. A few invoices. The spreadsheet you left open on your laptop.””
I stared at her.
“You went through my computer?””
“I was trying to help!””
“You copied my business records and gave them to your ex-boyfriend?””
“I didn't think he'd use them against you.””
“Why would you think he'd use them at all?””
She covered her mouth.
I turned away and pressed my palms against the edge of the table.
For years, I had considered the biggest problem in our relationship to be Tasha's habit of belittling me. I thought she needed attention, that she was insecure, that she couldn't resist making herself look better by making me look worse.
I had never considered that she might be sharing private information about my company with someone I had every reason to distrust.
Nicole spoke carefully.
“Marcus, do you have any idea what those screenshots contained?””
“Some estimates, invoices, and project projections. I don't know exactly which files she copied.””
“Did you ever authorize Tasha to share them with anyone?””
“No.””
Tasha stepped forward.
“I didn't send him anything about your bank accounts. I swear.””
I looked at her.
“That doesn't make what you did acceptable.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
She began crying harder.
“I made a mistake.””
“A mistake is forgetting to lock the front door. You accessed my private business information, sent it to a man you knew I didn't trust, and hid it from me.””
“I thought I could fix it before you found out.””
“How?””
She couldn't answer.
I waited.
Finally, she whispered, “David said he could get me out of debt.””
That changed the conversation again.
I looked at her carefully.
“What debt?””
She lowered her head.
For the first time that night, I saw something beneath her anger that wasn't arrogance or embarrassment.
Fear.
“How much?”” I asked.
“Marcus—”
“How much debt do you have?””
She pressed her lips together.
“Forty-eight thousand dollars.””
I stared at her.
“Forty-eight thousand?””
She nodded.
“How?””
“Credit cards. A personal loan. Some money I borrowed to invest.””
“Invest in what?””
She hesitated.
“An online business.””
“What online business?””
“It was supposed to be a beauty subscription service.””
I remembered the expensive packages that had arrived at the house several months earlier. Boxes of cosmetics, skincare products, and promotional materials had crowded the spare bedroom.
Tasha had told me she was launching a business.
She had said she wanted to build something of her own, something that would make her independent.
I had encouraged her.
I even offered to help her find a commercial photographer for the product launch.
But the business had disappeared from our conversations after a few weeks.
I had assumed she had changed direction.
Now I understood why.
“Did the business fail?”” I asked.
She nodded.
“And David offered to help you pay the debt?””
“He said he could connect me with investors. He said I could make the money back.””
“By giving him my business records?””
“He told me he needed proof that your company was profitable before his contacts would consider working with you.””
I stared at her in disbelief.
“So he wanted my financial information.””
“He said it was just preliminary research.””
“And you believed him?””
She looked up at me, her cheeks wet.
“I wanted to believe him.””
That answer told me more than anything else she had said.
Tasha hadn't merely been careless. She had wanted something badly enough to ignore the risks.
And she had been willing to use my work to get it.
Nicole took a slow breath.
“Marcus, preserve any messages, emails, and documents related to this. Don't delete anything or confront David directly until we understand the situation.””
Tasha looked alarmed.
“Why are you talking like this is a criminal case?””
“I'm not making that determination,” Nicole replied.
“I'm telling Marcus to preserve evidence and protect his business.””
“He's not going to sue me!””
I looked at Tasha.
“I haven't said anything about suing you.””
“Then why are you acting like I'm your enemy?””
“Because you keep giving me reasons not to trust you.””
She reached for my hand.
I stepped back.
The movement was small, but she reacted as if I had slapped her.
“Marcus, please.””
I couldn't look at her.
For years, I had imagined our future in the ordinary ways people do when they believe their relationship is solid. A wedding in the spring. A family dinner with both our parents. Maybe children someday, if we both wanted them.
I had even started saving for an engagement ring.
The money was in a separate account, and I had planned to take her to Savannah the following month to ask her.
She didn't know.
Now the thought of proposing felt like remembering a dream that belonged to someone else.
Tasha wiped her face.
“I love you.””
I looked at her.
“Then why did you call me a freeloader tonight?””
She opened her mouth.
I continued before she could answer.
“Why did you tell your friends that you pay for everything? Why did you make me look like a failure when you knew how hard I'd worked to build this company?””
Her eyes darted away.
“I was embarrassed.””
“Of what?””
She swallowed.
“Of being the one who needed help.””
I frowned.
“You said you were supporting me.””
“I know.””
“So what were you embarrassed about?””
She finally looked at me.
“Because everyone thought I was the successful one. I told them I was helping you get on your feet. I made it sound like you depended on me. When your business started doing well, I couldn't explain how much you had achieved without admitting that I'd been wrong about you.””
I felt the last of my anger settle into something colder.
“So you kept humiliating me because admitting I had succeeded would damage the image you created?””
She began shaking her head.
“It's not that simple.””
“Then make it simple.””
She stared at the ground.
“I didn't want people to think I wasn't needed anymore.””
For a moment, nobody spoke.
The confession was pathetic, but it was also revealing.
Tasha had spent years turning my difficult beginnings into a story that made her look indispensable. When my circumstances changed, she kept repeating the old version because the truth threatened the role she had assigned herself.
But insecurity didn't explain David.
It didn't explain the stolen documents.
And it didn't explain the message on her phone.
I pointed toward it.
“What did David mean when he said, 'Don't tell Marcus what we did'?””
Tasha went completely still.
Nicole looked at her.
“That's an important question.””
Tasha's fingers tightened around her phone.
“It's complicated.””
“Then start at the beginning,” I said.
She took a shaky breath.
“Three months ago, David asked me to sign something.””
“What?””
“A document saying I had permission to provide information about your company.””
I felt my heart thud once, hard.
“Permission from whom?””
She looked at me.
“From you.””
I couldn't move.
“You forged my authorization?””
“No! I didn't sign your name. I signed my own name and told him you had approved it.””
“That is not the same thing as having permission.””
“I know.””
“Did you send him anything else?””
She began crying again.
“Yes.””
“What?””
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she reached into her purse, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and placed it on the table beside Nicole's folder.
“I didn't know what he was planning to do with it,” she whispered.
Nicole unfolded the paper.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
She read the first paragraph, turned the page, and looked at me.
“Marcus, this isn't just a set of business projections.””
“What is it?””
She turned the paper toward me.
At the top was the name of my company.
Beneath it was a heading that made my blood run cold.
*PERSONAL GUARANTEE AND AUTHORIZATION AGREEMENT.*
I scanned the first page, then the second.
My company was identified as the borrower in a proposed financing arrangement. The document listed assets, projected revenue, and a potential credit facility large enough to transform a small renovation business into a much larger operation.
Near the bottom was a section for my signature.
The line was blank.
I looked at Tasha.
“Did you give him this document?””
She nodded.
“Who prepared it?””
“David said his investment group needed it.””
“Did you tell him I agreed to guarantee this financing?””
She couldn't speak.
“Did you tell him I had authorized him to negotiate on my behalf?””
Tasha began sobbing.
“I thought it was only an application.””
Nicole placed the document flat on the table.
“An application can still have serious consequences, depending on what was submitted and how the information was used. We need the original communications and the complete agreement.””
I looked at the blank signature line.
Then I looked at Tasha.
For the first time since Nicole had arrived, I wasn't thinking about the house.
I wasn't thinking about the barbecue or the insults.
I was thinking about the company I had spent years building, the employees who depended on it, and the possibility that someone had been using my name to arrange financing without my knowledge.
“Where is the original?”” I asked.
Tasha shook her head.
“David has it.””
“Does it have my signature?””
“No.””
“Are you sure?””
“Yes. I never signed your name.””
I studied her face, searching for any sign that she was lying again.
Nicole gathered the papers into a neat stack.
“We'll need to verify that independently.””
Tasha looked at me desperately.
“Marcus, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt you.””
I wanted to believe that there was a version of our relationship in which her mistakes were accidents, her insults were harmless, and the woman I loved was still somewhere beneath the person standing before me.
But the evidence on the table was becoming impossible to ignore.
I picked up my phone.
“I'm calling my accountant tomorrow. Then I'm reviewing every account and every document connected to the business.””
Tasha grabbed my wrist.
“Please don't destroy everything we've built.””
I gently pulled away.
“You did that when you decided my trust was something you could spend without asking.””
She sank into a chair.
For several minutes, the only sound was the distant traffic beyond the fence.
Then Nicole's phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen and frowned.
“Marcus, I just received an email from the title company handling the East Atlanta acquisition.””
“What about it?””
She opened the message.
Her face grew serious.
“They've received a request to delay the closing pending a dispute over your company's financial authorization.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What dispute?””
Nicole read the message again.
Then she looked up.
“The sender claims that someone acting on your behalf has already pledged your company's assets as collateral for another loan.””
I turned toward Tasha.
She was staring at the table.
May you like
And before I could ask her another question, she whispered the words that made everything worse.
“David told me he had already taken care of the loan.””
