The House Was Flooded, But He Still Went Home to His Mother

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Quentin stared at the document.

Then he looked at Simone.

“Why is your name on this?””

Simone didn't move.

“I've never seen that paper before.””

“It's your name.””

“I can read, Quentin.””

Marcus stepped between them.

“Don't do this.””

Quentin looked at him.

“I'm not accusing her. I'm asking how her name ended up on a property transaction involving my mother's company.””

“Then ask the right question,” Marcus replied.

“Who submitted the paperwork?””

Quentin looked down again.

The document identified Simone as a secondary purchaser and listed her personal information, including her date of birth and the last four digits of her Social Security number.

She recognized the information immediately.

Her stomach tightened.

“Where did they get that?””

Marcus pulled another sheet from the folder.

“Your mother supplied it.””

Quentin shook his head.

“That's impossible.””

Simone turned toward him.

“Your mother has been inside our house without telling me. She has access to documents you signed. She has been handling insurance paperwork behind our backs. What exactly is impossible?””

Quentin lowered his eyes.

Marcus placed his finger on a paragraph near the bottom.

“The investor's company was preparing to purchase your flooded property at a reduced price. The transaction was supposed to happen after the insurance claim was processed.””

Simone slowly sat down.

“So she wanted the insurance money, and she wanted our house.””

“That's what the documents suggest,” Marcus said.

Quentin rubbed his face.

“Why would she need Simone's name?””

“To make the transaction appear mutually authorized,” Marcus answered.

“It looks like somebody was trying to create the impression that both owners agreed.””

Simone looked at her husband.

“Did you agree to sell our house?””

“No.””

“Did you agree to put my name on a property purchase?””

“No.””

“Did you give your mother permission to use our personal information?””

Quentin hesitated.

“I gave her access to some documents.””

Simone's expression changed.

“What documents?””

“Tax records. Mortgage information. Some insurance paperwork.””

She stared at him.

“You gave her our private financial information?””

“She said she needed it to help with the insurance.””

“And you didn't think to tell me?””

“I didn't think she would do this.””

Simone laughed bitterly.

“That sentence has become your favorite excuse.””

Quentin looked away.

Marcus closed the folder.

“There's one thing we need to establish before anybody makes another decision. Simone, did you ever sign anything related to Blackstone Property Acquisitions?””

“No.””

“Did you authorize anyone to use your information?””

“No.””

“Good. Then we document everything and contact the appropriate authorities.””

Quentin stood.

“Authorities? You're talking about reporting my mother?””

Marcus looked directly at him.

“I'm talking about protecting your wife and daughter.””

Quentin paced toward the window.

Outside, rainwater dripped from the gutters.

His mother's words echoed in his head.

I did what I had to do to protect what belongs to our family.

He had spent thirty-five years believing that Marva's love was unconditional.

Now he wondered how much of that love had depended on his obedience.

His phone vibrated.

A message appeared.

Baby, please come home. I haven't eaten. My blood pressure is going up. I can't believe you'd abandon your mother after everything.

Quentin stared at it.

Simone saw his expression.

“She's calling you again?””

He nodded.

“Don't answer if you don't want to.””

He put the phone on the table.

Then another message arrived.

If you let Simone destroy what we built, don't ever expect me to forgive you.

Quentin slowly sat down.

“We didn't build anything together,” he whispered.

Simone looked at him.

“What?””

He swallowed.

“My mother keeps saying that I owe her everything.””

Marcus leaned against the wall.

“Then perhaps it's time you learned what your father actually left you.””

Quentin looked up.

“What do you mean?””

Marcus reached into the folder and removed a photocopy of an old insurance certificate.

It carried the name of Quentin's father, Daniel Black.

Beneath it was a beneficiary designation.

Quentin read the document.

His eyes widened.

“Simone, look at this.””

She took it.

The certificate showed that Daniel had established a family trust before his death.

Quentin was the primary beneficiary.

But there was another name listed as a temporary trustee.

Marva Black.

Simone followed the dates.

The trust had been established twenty years earlier.

A financial institution had been responsible for managing it until Quentin turned thirty-five.

His birthday had been three months ago.

Marcus nodded.

“That's why the account information suddenly became relevant. Your mother may have been trying to move money before you gained direct control.””

Quentin stared at him.

“Why didn't anybody tell me?””

“Maybe because someone didn't want you asking questions.””

Simone turned another page.

A letter was attached.

It was addressed to Quentin.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

The return address belonged to an attorney in Atlanta.

The date was six weeks earlier.

Quentin opened it carefully.

He read the first paragraph.

Then he stopped.

“What is it?”” Simone asked.

He handed her the letter.

She read aloud.

“Dear Mr. Black, pursuant to the terms of your late father's estate, you are entitled to receive an accounting of all trust assets upon reaching the age of thirty-five…”

She continued.

“…Our records indicate that previous requests for communication were redirected by your designated representative.””

Simone lowered the page.

“Redirected?””

Quentin looked at Marcus.

“Who redirected them?””

Marcus pointed to the signature.

Marva Black.

And beneath her signature was a handwritten note.

My son does not need to be disturbed.

Quentin closed his eyes.

His mother hadn't simply hidden a bank account.

She had been intercepting information about his inheritance.

His phone began ringing again.

This time, the caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.

Quentin answered.

“Hello?””

A woman's professional voice came through.

“Mr. Black? My name is Evelyn Carter. I'm an attorney representing the estate of your late father.””

Quentin sat upright.

“Yes?””

“I've been trying to reach you for several weeks.””

He glanced at the letter.

“What is this about?””

A brief pause followed.

Then Evelyn said something that made him grip the phone tightly.

“Your father left instructions that were supposed to be delivered directly to you on your thirty-fifth birthday. We need to discuss what happened to the original documents.””

Quentin looked at Simone.

“What original documents?””

Evelyn's voice became serious.

“The documents naming the person who would inherit the family property.””