Chapter 6 - MY MOTHER’S INVESTMENT
Mom denied it for twenty-two minutes.
First she said the computer metadata was wrong.
Then she said Derek must have used her laptop.
Then she said she might have opened the file once.
Then she said she had only “helped with wording.”
Every explanation collapsed under the next question.
Finally, Dad said, “Margaret, stop.”
She turned on him.
“Do not speak to me like I’m a criminal.”
“No one said that.”
“Natalie is looking at me like one.”
I was.
Not because I knew she had committed a crime.
Because I knew she was still lying.
Reyes asked gently, “Mrs. Parker, did you invest money with Derek?”
Mom stared at him.
“That is private.”
Dad’s head snapped around.
“What money?”
Her expression changed.
The room changed with it.
Dad stood.
“Margaret.”
She looked away.
“What money?”
“It was mine.”
“You don’t have separate money.”
“My inheritance from Aunt Louise.”
Dad’s face emptied.
Mom’s aunt had died four years earlier.
As far as I knew, Mom inherited around $300,000.
Apparently, Dad had not known exactly what happened to it.
“How much?” he asked.
Mom said nothing.
“How much did you give Derek?”
“Two hundred.”
“Thousand?”
She nodded.
Dad sat down.
It was the first time I truly understood that the lies in my family did not run in a straight line.
Mom lied to me.
Dad lied to me.
Derek lied to everyone.
And Mom and Dad lied to each other.
Claire whispered, “Did you invest in Sterling Bridge?”
Mom bristled.
“It was a real business.”
“Was?”
“It is.”
“Mom, Derek is being held by people who think he stole their money.”
“That doesn’t mean the business wasn’t real.”
Reyes asked, “What did your son tell you the fund did?”
Mom straightened as if giving a presentation.
“He identified undervalued commercial properties and short-term lending opportunities.”
“How did the family house become part of that?”
She hesitated.
“He said investors wanted to see security.”
“Security he didn’t own.”
“He believed Natalie was transferring the property.”
The answer came so naturally that I almost missed the implication.
“He believed?”
Mom looked at me.
“You told us eventually.”
“I said years ago that I would make sure you always had somewhere to live.”
“That meant the house.”
“No. It meant security.”
“What is the difference?”
“Three million dollars.”
She flinched.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
Reyes continued.
“Did you tell investors the house belonged to the family?”
Mom’s mouth tightened.
“I attended two dinners.”
“What dinners?”
“Investor dinners.”
“What did you say?”
“Very little.”
Claire let out a bitter laugh.
Mom shot her a look.
Reyes asked again.
“What did you say, Mrs. Parker?”
She stared at the table.
“I said Robert and I had significant real estate assets.”
Dad looked at her.
“We don’t.”
“We had the house.”
“No,” he said.
Mom turned.
“You lived there too.”
“That doesn’t make it ours.”
It was the first time Dad had defended my ownership without qualification.
Too late.
But not meaningless.
Mom whispered, “I was trying to help our son.”
I looked at her.
“No. You were trying to help Derek become the version of him you already told everyone existed.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You always hated his success.”
I laughed.
“What success?”
The question was cruel.
Also accurate.
Derek’s image had always been larger than his balance sheet.
He leased luxury cars.
Joined clubs.
Paid for expensive dinners.
Borrowed privately.
Refinanced constantly.
Mom loved the performance because it matched the story she wanted for her oldest son.
Family man.
Entrepreneur.
Provider.
Meanwhile, my success was awkward because it did not fit the story she wanted for me.
I was supposed to be competent but incomplete.
Financially useful but personally lacking.
An unmarried woman with no children, sitting at the back with plastic.
Reyes asked for copies of Mom’s investment documents.
She resisted.
Melissa reminded her that cooperating might help Derek.
That worked.
Within an hour, Mom retrieved a folder from a locked cabinet in her bedroom.
Inside were promissory notes.
Subscription agreements.
Investor updates.
And one document that made Melissa go completely still.
A personal guarantee.
Signed by Derek.
Co-signed by Dad.
Dad stared at it.
“I never signed this.”
My stomach dropped.
Another forged signature.
Mom looked at him.
“What?”
“I did not sign this.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You were in the kitchen.”
“I signed a tax form.”
Melissa took the document.
“Robert, do you recognize the notary?”
He looked.
“No.”
I did.
The same notary name appeared on one of the recent statements containing my fake signature.
Sandra Cole.
Melissa searched the California notary database.
No active commission under that name.
Reyes made a call.
Mom sat quietly now.
No defensiveness.
No accusations.
Because the scale of what Derek had done was finally becoming impossible to frame as a mistake.
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
Unknown number.
Tomorrow. 11. Come alone.
Below it was a location pin.
Treasure Island.
Reyes took the phone.
“You’re not going alone.”
“I know.”
Mom whispered, “What if they hurt him?”
No one answered.
At 10:40 that night, police moved my parents to a hotel under a reservation that could not be connected easily to them.
Claire came with me to my condo.
It was the first time she had stayed overnight there since college.
We sat on my sofa with two untouched glasses of wine.
“I always thought you didn’t need us,” she said.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“You were always the one who had everything figured out.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t need you.”
“I know that now.”
I leaned back.
“Why did you think that?”
“Mom.”
Of course.
Claire twisted the stem of her glass.
“When I was twenty-three and wanted to move to Los Angeles, you offered to help with rent for six months.”
“I remember.”
“Mom told me not to take it.”
I frowned.
“She said you would use the money to control me.”
My chest tightened.
“I never knew that.”
“I didn’t go.”
“I thought you changed your mind.”
“I did after she scared me.”
More silence.
Claire continued.
“When Derek borrowed money from you, Mom said you loved being the rich sister.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“Several times.”
I felt suddenly exhausted.
It was one thing to discover financial fraud.
Another to realize someone had been quietly interpreting your motives to everyone you loved.
“Why would she do that?”
Claire shrugged sadly.
“Maybe because if we liked you without needing her, she lost something.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Mom had always been the center of communication.
She knew everyone’s news first.
She passed messages.
Explained intentions.
Translated conflicts.
Maybe that role gave her power.
And maybe my independence threatened it.
Claire’s phone buzzed.
She looked down.
Then frowned.
“What?”
“Derek.”
I sat forward.
A text from his number.
One sentence.
Don’t trust Mom’s lawyer.
We looked at each other.
Then another message came.
Reeves knows where the money went.
And then:
He helped set it up.
The phone rang.
Derek.
Claire answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
Static.
Breathing.
Then Derek whispered, “Claire?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have long.”
“Where are you?”
“They moved me.”
“Who?”
“Salas.”
“What does he want?”
“His money.”
“How much?”
“Three million.”
Claire looked at me.
My stomach tightened.
“Why does he think our house is worth three million?” I asked loudly.
Derek went silent.
Then: “Natalie?”
“Yes.”
“Listen to me. Reeves created the documents.”
Mom’s attorney.
“How?”
“He said the family arrangement could support the collateral story.”
“Did he forge my signature?”
“I don’t know.”
“Derek.”
“I swear.”
“What happened to twelve million dollars?”
His breathing changed.
“It wasn’t twelve.”
“How much?”
“Eight point four.”
Claire covered her mouth.
“Where is it?”
“Most was invested.”
“Most?”
“Some deals failed.”
“And the rest?”
Silence.
“Derek.”
“Reeves moved money.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
A voice shouted in the background.
Derek spoke faster.
“The house wasn’t supposed to be taken. It was just supposed to make investors comfortable until the deals paid out.”
I closed my eyes.
Fraud explained by intention.
Classic Derek.
“Why the original deed?”
“Salas thinks if he has it, he can force a transfer.”
“He can’t.”
“I know.”
“Does he?”
“No.”
Another voice.
Closer.
Derek whispered, “Do not bring the deed.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“If Salas realizes it’s useless, he loses leverage.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the deed is the only reason I’m still alive.”
Then the line went dead.
Claire stared at me.
My phone rang immediately.
Melissa.
“Natalie, turn on the news.”
I did.
Local business headlines.
A breaking report.
San Francisco attorney Jonathan Reeves found dead in Marin County home.
Mom’s lawyer.
May you like
The man Derek claimed knew where the money had gone.
And according to the first report, police were calling the death suspicious.
