Chapter 3 - The Father He Imagined
Marcus left Saturday morning.
I watched his Honda pull away from our driveway and felt every instinct in me scream to stop him.
Angela stood beside me.
“This is a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“You should have forbidden it.”
“He’d go anyway.”
“He’s seventeen.”
“He’s also angry enough to believe Darren over us.”
Angela hugged herself.
“What if Darren doesn’t let him leave?”
“Then I call the police.”
I held up my phone.
Marcus had agreed to keep location sharing on.
That was my condition.
Not because I wanted to track him like a prisoner.
Because I remembered the message about his Social Security card.
Marcus arrived at the motel twenty minutes later.
His location stopped moving.
Angela paced.
I tried to work in the garage.
Neither of us fooled the other.
Two hours passed.
Then three.
At one thirty, Marcus texted.
Staying a little longer.
Angela immediately called him.
He declined it.
She looked at me.
“That isn’t like him.”
“No.”
At the motel, Marcus was meeting the father he had imagined for fourteen years.
I could only hope reality was louder than Darren’s stories.
Marcus later told me what happened.
Darren hugged him when he walked into the room.
For Marcus, that hug mattered.
That was the tragedy.
A seventeen-year-old boy could know a man had abandoned him and still ache for that man’s arms around him.
Darren ordered burgers.
He showed Marcus old photographs.
One of Angela holding baby Marcus.
One of Darren beside a motorcycle.
One of the three of them at a park.
“He kept saying we were a family,” Marcus told me later.
Then Darren showed him papers.
“Your grandfather wanted you protected,” he said.
Marcus studied the photocopies.
“What is this?”
“Your trust.”
“How did you get it?”
“Walter gave me copies.”
That should have been impossible.
The trust had been created years after Darren disappeared.
Marcus didn’t know that yet.
Darren pointed at my name.
“See?”
Successor Guardian: David Reed.
“I told you.”
Marcus stared.
“He controls it.”
“He will if something happens to your mother.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Darren smiled.
“Sounds like David has been coaching you.”
Marcus didn’t answer.
Then Darren placed another document on the bed.
A handwritten letter.
Dear Darren,
I regret the way Angela shut you out...
Marcus read it twice.
“My grandfather wrote this?”
“Yes.”
The signature looked like Walter’s.
Marcus had seen it on birthday cards.
Darren leaned closer.
“Your grandfather wanted us to make peace.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because David got to him.”
That was where the story should have fallen apart.
Walter had never been a man anyone “got to.”
He was stubborn enough to argue with a parking meter.
But Marcus wanted to believe.
Darren knew that.
Then he changed the subject.
“You bring your Social Security card?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Why?”
“So I can check whether David has opened anything in your name.”
“Can’t I check myself?”
Darren smiled.
“I know people.”
That answer finally made Marcus uncomfortable.
“I left it at home.”
A lie.
For once, I was grateful my son could lie convincingly.
Darren’s smile faded.
“You said you’d bring it.”
“I forgot.”
“No problem.”
He held out his hand.
“Just tell me the number.”
Marcus laughed nervously.
“I don’t know it.”
Darren stared at him too long.
Then smiled again.
“No big deal.”
He changed the subject.
College.
Basketball.
Girls.
For another hour, he became exactly what Marcus had wanted.
Funny.
Interested.
Proud.
Then he asked, “How much did David pay for your car?”
Marcus shrugged.
“We split it.”
“With whose money?”
“My money.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Work.”
Darren laughed.
“You work at a grocery store?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Marcus frowned.
“To earn money.”
“You have almost two hundred grand waiting for you.”
“That’s for school.”
“That’s what they told you.”
Darren leaned back.
“You need to stop thinking like David.”
“What does that mean?”
“Poor.”
Marcus stared at him.
My son later told me that was the moment something changed.
Because Darren wasn’t talking about me like a rival father anymore.
He was talking about me like I was stupid.
“You know David owns a repair shop, right?”
“Half a repair shop.”
“He built it with his partner.”
Darren shrugged.
“Still turns wrenches.”
Marcus stood.
“I should go.”
Darren’s voice hardened.
“You just got here.”
“I’ve been here four hours.”
“You barely know me.”
“That’s not my fault.”
The words slipped out.
Darren froze.
So did Marcus.
For one second, the charming father disappeared.
Darren stood.
“You think I wanted to be gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your mother poisoned everything.”
“She says you left.”
“She would.”
“You never called.”
“I wasn’t allowed.”
“You could’ve found me online years ago.”
Darren’s jaw tightened.
“You sound like him.”
Marcus grabbed his jacket.
“I’m leaving.”
Darren blocked the motel door.
Not touching him.
Just standing there.
Marcus’s pulse jumped.
“Move.”
“Don’t disrespect me.”
The irony was almost unbelievable.
Marcus looked him in the eye.
“You’ve known me for four hours.”
Darren’s face twitched.
Then he stepped aside.
“Fine.”
Marcus reached the door.
“Marcus.”
He stopped.
Darren’s voice softened again.
“I love you.”
Marcus didn’t turn around.
He left.
Angela and I were in the kitchen when he came home.
He walked inside and dropped his keys.
Angela rushed toward him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
She hugged him.
At first, he stood stiffly.
Then his arms slowly came around her.
I stayed back.
Marcus looked over her shoulder at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Did Grandpa create my trust before or after Darren left?”
Angela answered.
“Years after.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Then Darren lied.”
He pulled out the photocopy.
“He said Grandpa gave him this.”
I looked at the date.
Walter had signed the trust documents nine years after Darren disappeared.
Angela’s face hardened.
“That copy is confidential.”
“How did Darren get it?”
None of us knew.
Then Marcus handed Angela the letter.
She read it.
Her eyes narrowed.
“This isn’t Dad’s signature.”
Marcus looked shocked.
“It looks exactly like it.”
“No.”
She pointed at the bottom.
“My father always signed Walter J. Collins on legal letters.”
This one said Walter Collins.
Marcus sat down.
For the first time since the argument began, he looked seventeen again.
Not grown.
Not defiant.
Just lost.
“I almost gave him my Social Security number.”
Angela closed her eyes.
I pulled out a chair beside him.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“That matters.”
He looked at me.
“I still said those things to you.”
“We’ll deal with that later.”
His eyes filled.
Before he could respond, his normal phone rang.
Unknown number.
Marcus answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Is this Marcus Collins?”
“Yes.”
“This is Rebecca Hall from Heritage Trust Management.”
Angela and I looked at each other.
The woman continued.
“We’re calling to verify an early-distribution request submitted under your name.”
Marcus went white.
“I didn’t submit anything.”
May you like
A pause.
Then Rebecca said, “Mr. Collins, someone requested forty thousand dollars from your trust yesterday.”
