Chapter 4: The Woman Darius Said Was Dead
For several seconds, Nia couldn't speak.
The name Daniel Price had just given her belonged to a woman she had mourned without ever attending her funeral.
A woman whose photograph Darius had once shown her on his phone, explaining that she had died in a car accident years before they met.
A woman he had described as his first serious girlfriend.
A woman named Camille Brooks.
“That's impossible,” Nia whispered.
Daniel's breathing crackled through the phone.
“I'm sorry?””
“Camille Brooks. You're telling me she's your daughter?””
“Yes.””
“Darius told me she died.””
The silence on the other end was immediate and absolute.
Then Daniel said, “When?””
“About four years ago. He told me she'd been killed in a car accident in Tennessee. He said he attended her funeral with his family.””
Daniel made a sound Nia couldn't identify. It was half a laugh, half a gasp.
“Camille is alive.””
Nia pressed a hand against her mouth.
Beside her, Tasha sat motionless, watching her face.
“Where is she?”” Nia asked.
“I can't tell you that over the phone.””
“Why not?””
“Because I don't know who's listening.””
“Mr. Price, my husband beat me tonight. He was investigating my grandfather's estate, and someone sent me a photograph of his car outside my grandfather's house the night he died. You don't get to call me with half the truth and expect me to wait patiently for the rest.””
Daniel fell silent.
Nia's voice broke.
“Please. I need to understand what's happening.””
When Daniel finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“Camille is alive, Ms. Williams. I saw her six days ago.””
Nia closed her eyes.
“Then why did Darius tell me she was dead?””
“I don't know everything he told you. But I know he wanted her out of his life.””
“Were they engaged?””
“Yes.””
Nia opened her eyes.
Tasha reached for her hand.
“Before you,” Daniel continued, “Camille and Darius were planning to get married. My daughter discovered he was moving money from accounts connected to a business he managed. When she confronted him, he told her she was imagining things.””
Nia's stomach tightened.
“What business?””
“Williams Urban Holdings.””
The name seemed to suck all the air from the room.
Daniel continued.
“Camille worked in the company's accounting department. She discovered transfers that didn't match the records. Before she could report them, Darius accused her of stealing confidential documents.””
Nia remembered the first time she had asked Darius about his previous relationships.
He had been driving them home from a family barbecue when she noticed a photograph tucked into the visor above his head.
A young woman with long dark hair, smiling beside him.
When Nia asked who she was, Darius had taken the photograph down and torn it in half.
“Someone who tried to ruin my life,” he'd said.
Later, when Nia pressed him for details, he told her Camille had died.
He'd even cried while telling the story.
Nia had held him that night.
She had comforted him for a loss that had never happened.
“Why would he lie about her death?”” Nia whispered.
“Because Camille had evidence,” Daniel answered.
“Evidence that could have destroyed him.””
Tasha stood and began pacing the apartment.
“Did she report him to the police?””
“She tried. The company hired lawyers, and the matter became complicated. Some of the documents disappeared.
Camille was frightened. She left Atlanta and changed her number.””
“And Darius told everyone she was dead?””
“I don't know what he told everyone. I only know that he told me to stop looking for her.””
Nia stared at the phone.
“Did you believe him?””
“No,” Daniel said bitterly.
“But I was afraid. He had money, influence, and people willing to do what he asked. I thought if I kept my head down, he'd eventually leave us alone.””
“You let me believe she was dead.””
“I never knew you.””
“But you knew he was lying.””
Daniel exhaled.
“Yes.””
The honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
Nia turned toward the window. The bakery's sign glowed across the street, casting pale light onto the glass.
“Where can I find Camille?””
“Tomorrow. Nine-thirty. The parking garage beneath the old Fulton County administration building.””
“Why there?””
“Because it's public, there are cameras, and she agreed to meet you.””
Nia froze.
“She's expecting me?””
“She knows who you are. She asked me to find out whether you were ready to hear the truth.””
“What truth?””
Daniel hesitated.
“Camille believes your grandfather didn't simply leave you an inheritance. She believes he left you evidence.””
“Evidence of what?””
“I don't know. That's why you need to speak to her.””
Nia heard a faint sound behind Daniel's voice, like a door closing.
“Mr. Price?””
“I have to go.””
“Wait. How do I know I can trust you?””
“You don't.””
The answer surprised her.
Daniel continued, “You don't owe me your trust. Just give my daughter the chance I failed to give her.””
The call ended.
Nia lowered the phone.
For a long moment, she stared at the dark screen.
Tasha sat beside her.
“Are you going to meet her?””
“Yes.””
“Tomorrow morning?””
“Yes.””
“Then I'm coming with you.””
Nia nodded.
She was too exhausted to argue.
That night, sleep came in fragments.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Darius standing in the living room with the belt in his hand. She heard Denise laughing. She remembered Malik looking away only after she had accused him of enjoying the spectacle.
But the worst memories were quieter.
Darius bringing her coffee.
Darius kissing her forehead.
Darius telling her that he had never loved anyone the way he loved her.
How could a man say those things while concealing another woman's life?
At 6:42 a.m., Nia gave up trying to sleep.
She sat at Tasha's kitchen table with a mug of untouched coffee and opened her email.
An unfamiliar sender had contacted her during the night.
The subject line read: *URGENT — Estate Documentation for Nia Williams.*
The message contained no greeting.
Only an attachment and three sentences.
Your grandfather instructed me to preserve the attached material.
The original documents are in the custody of the estate's independent trustee.
Please do not discuss their contents with Darius Carter.
Nia opened the attachment.
It was a scanned page from an internal company report.
At the top was the name Williams Urban Holdings.
Beneath it were several transaction records, each marked with a red circle.
She recognized the account numbers from the law firm's letter.
But one name appeared repeatedly beside the transfers.
Darius Carter.
Nia read the figures twice.
The amounts were enormous.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars had been moved through several accounts over a period of eighteen months.
The final transaction was dated three days before her grandfather died.
At the bottom of the page, someone had typed a short note.
Authorization disputed. Original signature verification pending.
Nia's coffee sat untouched.
She enlarged the document.
The signature attached to the final transaction appeared to be her grandfather's.
But the letter she had received the previous night suggested someone had attempted to access his records using credentials that did not belong to the person making the request.
Was the signature genuine?
Had her grandfather authorized the transfer?
Or had someone forged it?
Tasha entered the kitchen, tying her hair into a ponytail.
“You look like you haven't slept.””
“I haven't.””
“What did you find?””
Nia turned the laptop toward her.
Tasha read the report.
Her expression hardened.
“That's your husband's name.””
“I know.””
“Have you shown the lawyer?””
“Not yet.””
“Then let's go.””
At 8:55 a.m., they arrived at Brooks, Palmer and Associates, a glass-fronted office overlooking downtown Atlanta.
Evelyn Brooks met them in the reception area.
She was in her late forties, wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a thick leather folder. Her handshake was firm, but her expression softened when she noticed the marks on Nia's neck.
“Ms. Williams, I'm sorry you're going through this.””
“Thank you.””
Evelyn glanced at Tasha.
“Your sister can stay, provided you're comfortable with that.””
“She stays.””
“Of course.””
Inside the conference room, Evelyn placed several documents on the table.
“The trust itself is straightforward,” she explained.
“Your grandfather transferred his controlling interest into an irrevocable trust years ago. He retained certain rights during his lifetime, but he could not simply leave the company to someone by changing his will.””
Nia studied the documents.
“Why didn't he tell me?””
“That's a question only he could answer.””
“Could Darius take the company from me?””
“Not merely because he's your husband. The trust is in your name, and the company is protected by its governing documents. But someone could attempt to challenge the transfer or claim that the trust was established improperly.””
“Which is what Darius is doing.””
“He appears to be preparing that argument.””
Evelyn opened the leather folder.
“There is another matter. Your grandfather arranged for an independent forensic accountant to review certain transactions shortly before his death.””
Nia remembered the report on her laptop.
“I saw a page showing transfers associated with Darius.””
Evelyn's face tightened.
“Where did you obtain that?””
“An email sent last night.””
“From whom?””
“I don't know.””
Evelyn considered this.
“Do not delete it. We will need to examine the original message and its attachments.””
She slid a separate document across the table.
“This is a copy of a letter your grandfather wrote to the trustee. He instructed that it be released to you if anyone attempted to challenge the trust or obtain control of the company through litigation.””
Nia's hands trembled as she lifted the page.
Her grandfather's handwriting was unmistakable.
To my granddaughter, Nia.
If you are reading this, someone has decided that what I built belongs to them more than it belongs to you.
Do not confuse money with the reason I chose you.
You were the only person in this family who never asked me what I owned.
Nia's eyes filled with tears.
She could almost hear his voice.
You always asked me if I was lonely, little sparrow.
She pressed the letter to her chest.
Evelyn waited until Nia was ready to continue.
Then she placed one final document on the table.
It was a photograph of a black folder.
The same kind Daniel had described seeing Darius carry from her grandfather's house.
On its cover, someone had written four words in black marker.
*CAMILLE — ORIGINAL EVIDENCE — DO NOT DESTROY.*
Nia looked up.
“What's in that folder?””
Evelyn's expression was grave.
“We don't know. Your grandfather instructed the trustee to release it only if Camille Brooks could be located and her identity independently verified.””
Nia's breath caught.
“Camille is alive.””
Evelyn went still.
“Who told you that?””
“Her father.””
For the first time, the attorney looked genuinely surprised.
Then she closed the folder.
“Ms. Williams, your grandfather believed Camille's testimony could be essential to understanding what happened to the company records.””
Nia stared at the photograph.
“Does this have anything to do with his death?””
Evelyn answered carefully.
“We have evidence of financial irregularities. We have a disputed transaction. And we have a man who is now attempting to challenge the trust. We do not yet have proof connecting those matters to your grandfather's death.””
Nia nodded slowly.
She appreciated the honesty.
It was more than Darius had given her in years.
Evelyn checked her watch.
“There is one more thing I need you to know before you leave.””
She handed Nia a printed email.
It had been sent from Darius's personal account to the firm's general address three weeks earlier.
The subject line read: *Private Settlement Proposal.*
Nia began reading.
The first paragraph offered to resolve all disputes concerning the trust without litigation.
The second proposed that Nia transfer her beneficiary rights to an entity controlled by Darius.
The third contained a sentence that made her fingers go numb.
My wife is emotionally unstable and has a history of impulsive behavior. She is unlikely to understand the consequences of refusing this reasonable arrangement.
Tasha slammed her palm against the table.
“He's trying to make her look crazy!””
Evelyn nodded.
“That is why we need to preserve every communication and avoid direct confrontation.””
Nia stared at her husband's words.
He had written them three weeks earlier.
Before the belt.
Before the envelope.
Before she knew anything about the inheritance.
He had already been preparing to take control of her life.
Evelyn gathered the documents.
“The trust's independent trustee has arranged a meeting for you this morning. If you still wish to meet Camille, I recommend doing so in a public location and keeping your own counsel involved.””
Nia stood.
“I intend to meet her.””
As they left the conference room, Evelyn called after her.
“Ms. Williams?””
Nia turned.
“If Camille tells you something that contradicts what you believe about your husband, please don't dismiss it simply because it is difficult to accept.””
Nia thought of the wedding photograph on the bookshelf.
The coffee.
The apologies.
The years she had spent explaining away things that should never have needed explaining.
“I won't,” she said.
At 9:27 a.m., Nia and Tasha entered the parking garage beneath the old administration building.
A woman stood beside a concrete pillar near the elevator.
She wore a navy coat and dark sunglasses, and her hair was pulled into a low ponytail.
When she saw Nia, she removed the glasses.
Her eyes were tired, but unmistakably alive.
“I'm Camille,” she said.
Nia stopped three feet away.
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Then Camille looked at the bruise near Nia's collar.
Her expression changed.
“He hit you.””
Nia swallowed.
“Yes.””
Camille closed her eyes.
When she opened them, there were tears shining along her lower lashes.
“Then he's doing it again.””
Nia frowned.
“What do you mean?””
Camille reached into her bag and pulled out an old photograph.
It showed Darius standing beside a hospital bed, holding a woman's hand.
The woman in the bed was unconscious.
Nia recognized the hospital bracelet on her wrist.
It bore her grandfather's name.
Samuel Williams.
Camille looked directly at her.
“Your grandfather wasn't alone when he died.””
She turned the photograph over.
On the back, in her grandfather's handwriting, were six words.
If Nia asks, tell her everything.
May you like
Camille's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Darius was there, Nia. And he wasn't the only one.””
