Chapter 4 - What Happened While I Was in Canada
I called Rosalie back.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
I called Marcus.
“Can you drive?”
“Where?”
“Rosalie's.”
“I'm leaving now.”
Elaine stopped me before I reached the hospital elevator.
“Do not confront Godfrey.”
“He's at her house.”
“Then call the police if she is in danger.”
“I don't know if she's in danger.”
“Exactly.”
Phedra touched my arm.
“Damian.”
I looked at her.
She was sitting upright now.
Still weak.
Still pale.
But stronger than yesterday.
“Stay,” she said.
“Rosalie—”
“Marcus can check.”
I hated it.
But she was right.
I wasn't a detective.
I wasn't law enforcement.
And if I charged into another confrontation, I might destroy the careful work we had just begun.
Marcus reached Rosalie's street ten minutes later and called me.
“Godfrey's truck is leaving.”
“Do you see Rosalie?”
“Give me a second.”
A pause.
Then, “Yeah. She's outside.”
I exhaled.
“Is she okay?”
“She looks scared, but yes.”
Rosalie called minutes later.
“He wanted the envelope.”
“I have it.”
“I know. I told him I destroyed it.”
“Did he believe you?”
“No.”
“What were you saying about the account?”
She hesitated.
Then asked whether Elaine was with me.
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
Rosalie spoke carefully.
Nine months earlier, Selina and Godfrey had created a small home-services company.
At least, that's what the registration claimed.
Phedra was listed as majority owner.
Phedra stared at the phone.
“What company?”
Rosalie told us.
Hummingbird Home Services.
The name almost felt like mockery.
The same hummingbird Selina wore around her neck.
The company had been used to receive payments.
Some were reimbursements.
Some came from transfers.
Some came from financing.
Elaine immediately asked, “What kind of financing?”
Rosalie said, “Business credit.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“How do you know any of this?”
“I did the bookkeeping at Godfrey's shop for six months.”
Godfrey had asked Rosalie to clean up records after his first bookkeeper quit.
She began noticing payments between the auto shop, Selina's account, and Hummingbird.
When she asked questions, Godfrey told her they were “family transfers.”
Then she saw Phedra's name.
“I thought Phedra owned it,” Rosalie said.
Phedra shook her head.
“I've never heard of it.”
Elaine leaned forward.
“Rosalie, did you ever see loan documents?”
“Yes.”
“Signed by Phedra?”
“Yes.”
Phedra closed her eyes.
Elaine's face became serious.
“How much?”
“One was eighty thousand.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Eighty?”
“There might be more.”
The room became silent.
Phedra looked terrified.
“Am I responsible?”
Elaine answered carefully.
“Not necessarily. If your signature was forged or obtained through deception, there are ways to challenge it. But we need records.”
“What did they buy?”
Rosalie hesitated.
“The second hydraulic lift. Equipment. And part of the SUV.”
Godfrey's business.
My mother's car.
Debt in my wife's name.
I stood and walked to the window.
For years, I had imagined distance as sacrifice.
You work far away because you love people.
You miss birthdays because you love people.
You tolerate cold apartments and overtime because you love people.
But distance also created darkness.
Things could happen beyond the frame of a video call.
People could curate what you saw.
Selina always positioned the camera in the renovated kitchen.
Never the backyard.
Godfrey always talked about “the family.”
Never Phedra.
Phedra stopped using video.
I had accepted every explanation because distrust felt cruel.
Now trust felt careless.
Phedra spoke.
“There's something else.”
I turned.
“What?”
She stared at her hands.
“After I got sick, your mother started bringing papers.”
“What papers?”
“She said they were for the house.”
“What did you sign?”
“I don't know.”
“How many?”
“Maybe five or six.”
My chest tightened.
“You didn't read them?”
“I tried.”
Her voice cracked.
“One day I'd had treatment. I could barely keep my eyes open. Selina said you needed everything signed immediately or your Canadian work permit could be affected.”
I sat.
“Phedra.”
“I believed her.”
“I know.”
“I thought I was helping you.”
“I know.”
She began crying.
I moved beside her.
“I know.”
That mattered.
Blame was the easiest emotion available.
I could blame Phedra for signing.
She could blame me for leaving.
I could blame myself for trusting.
But blame wouldn't fix an account.
It wouldn't restore missed treatment.
It wouldn't reverse months.
So we focused on evidence.
Elaine contacted the relevant lenders.
Phedra filed identity and signature disputes where appropriate.
We secured her credit.
We froze new credit inquiries.
We changed passwords.
I replaced my phone.
By evening, the hospital oncologist met with us.
Dr. Hall was calm and direct.
Phedra's treatment had been interrupted.
That was serious.
But serious did not mean hopeless.
They needed updated imaging and bloodwork before discussing the next steps.
I watched Phedra listen.
She didn't ask whether she was going to die.
She asked something that hurt more.
“If I had kept every appointment, would things be different?”
Dr. Hall paused.
“Possibly. But we treat the patient in front of us, not the timeline we wish we had.”
Phedra nodded.
I wrote that sentence down.
Not because it was poetic.
Because I needed it.
We couldn't live inside the timeline we wished we had.
We had this one.
The next morning, Selina arrived at the hospital.
She brought flowers.
Phedra looked at them.
Then at me.
Selina smiled.
“I thought we could start over.”
I said nothing.
She placed the flowers on the table.
“I've been thinking.”
“I bet.”
“Damian, we're family.”
“Where was that family when Phedra slept in the shed?”
Selina's smile vanished.
“She chose that.”
Phedra spoke.
“No.”
Selina ignored her.
“You've always been dramatic when you're angry.”
I stood.
“Why is there a company in Phedra's name?”
Silence.
There.
One second.
Just one.
But I saw recognition.
Selina recovered.
“What company?”
“Hummingbird Home Services.”
Phedra looked directly at her.
My mother touched the necklace.
I almost couldn't believe it.
“You named it after her necklace?”
Selina's face hardened.
“You have no idea how difficult things became.”
“Explain the eighty-thousand-dollar loan.”
She stopped.
Elaine had advised me not to reveal too much.
But this was worth it.
Selina's eyes shifted toward the door.
“How did you find that?”
“That isn't an answer.”
She sat.
The performance ended.
“You left.”
“I worked.”
“You left.”
“For this family.”
“You don't know what that does to people.”
I stared.
“Did my leaving force you to forge signatures?”
“I didn't forge anything.”
“Who did?”
“I said I didn't.”
“Did Godfrey?”
No answer.
Phedra spoke quietly.
“Did you use my illness because you thought I wouldn't understand?”
Selina looked at her.
For the first time, something like discomfort crossed her face.
But it wasn't enough.
“You were going to lose everything anyway.”
Phedra went completely still.
I felt a chill.
“What does that mean?”
Selina realized she had said too much.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“What were we going to lose?”
She stood.
“I shouldn't have come.”
I blocked nothing.
I touched nothing.
I simply watched her walk toward the door.
Then she turned.
“Damian, your million dollars can fix this.”
That sentence confirmed everything.
She still thought money was the solution.
Not honesty.
Not Phedra's health.
Money.
After she left, Phedra said, “She knows something else.”
“Yes.”
Elaine agreed.
The settlement bait was working.
Over the next two days, Godfrey sent me five messages.
He apologized.
He blamed stress.
He blamed Selina.
He offered to “explain the accounting.”
Then he asked when the settlement would arrive.
I answered only that my lawyer expected final processing soon.
That evening, Marcus came to the hospital carrying a folder.
“You remember asking about the house?”
“Yes.”
“I pulled public property records.”
He handed them to Elaine.
She read.
Then looked at me.
“Damian, when did you buy the property?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“With Phedra?”
“Before we married.”
“Did you ever transfer ownership?”
“No.”
“Take out a new mortgage?”
“No.”
She turned the page.
“There was a refinance eighteen months ago.”
My mouth went dry.
“How?”
She placed the document in front of me.
Borrower:
Damian Carter.
Co-borrower:
Phedra Carter.
I stared at the signatures.
Mine looked good.
Very good.
But it wasn't mine.
The loan amount was one hundred and sixty thousand dollars.
I couldn't breathe for a second.
Phedra whispered, “Damian?”
I kept reading.
Most of the money had been disbursed at closing.
Some went toward an old balance.
The rest had been transferred.
Elaine traced the receiving account.
She looked up.
“Ending in 7319.”
The room went silent.
The account in Phedra's name.
The company.
The loans.
The refinance.
All roads pointed to the same place.
Then Elaine's phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She turned the screen toward us.
A lender had responded to her inquiry.
There wasn't one loan against Hummingbird Home Services.
There were three.
And attached to the largest one was a life-insurance assignment naming the company as beneficiary.
Phedra stared at it.
May you like
Then whispered:
“Life insurance?”
