Chapter 4 - The Christmas Party That Never Happened
Camille recovered quickly. She set her purse on the entry table and folded her arms. “Tasha was planning a surprise. I promised not to spoil it.”
“A surprise that involves forged signatures?” Adrian asked.
“You don't know what you're looking at.”
“Then explain it.”
Camille glanced at Isaiah. “Not in front of him.”
Isaiah laughed without humor. “You sent me messages pretending to be Malcolm. You don't get to decide who's family.”
Malcolm held up one hand. “Naomi is upstairs. We can speak like adults, or you can leave.”
Camille's eyes sharpened. “You're throwing me out of my own home over a little girl's story?”
“No. I'm asking why my daughter sleeps in a closet and why you threatened the woman who fed her.”
“She exaggerates.”
“Then why did she flinch when you tapped that poker?”
Camille's face went blank. For a moment Malcolm saw not shame but calculation.
“You were never home,” she said. “Someone had to set boundaries.”
He looked at her for a long time. “I was wrong to leave her with you. That's on me. What you did is on you.”
He asked her to stay at her brother's house while they investigated. Camille refused until Malcolm called the family attorney, who confirmed that the property belonged to a trust established by Tasha and Malcolm, not to Camille personally. She left after midnight, taking two suitcases and promising Malcolm would regret humiliating her.
Naomi woke when the car departed. Malcolm found her sitting on the edge of the cot, holding her rabbit.
“Is she coming back?”
“Not tonight.”
“Did I make you fight?”
“No, sweetheart.” He sat beside her. “I should have noticed. I'm sorry I didn't.”
She looked at the floor. “She said you wouldn't believe me because I cry too much.”
Malcolm swallowed. “I believe you.”
The next morning, Dr. Porter examined Naomi. The doctor documented irritated skin, fatigue, a bruise consistent with the fall Naomi described, and weight loss compared with her previous visit. She recommended rest, regular meals, and counseling, and explained to Malcolm that Naomi's fear around food and punishment would not disappear just because Camille had left.
“Don't make her tell the story ten times,” Dr. Porter advised. “Let professionals help. And keep your promises small enough that you can keep every one.”
Malcolm canceled his Christmas business trip. He told his board he would be working remotely for the foreseeable future. Adrian arranged for independent accountants to preserve foundation records, while attorney Ruth Ellis agreed to meet them that afternoon.
Ruth was a Black woman in her late fifties with close-cropped hair and a careful way of speaking. She listened to the audio recording without interrupting. When it ended, she removed her glasses.
“Tasha was going to change the foundation's board,” she said. “She thought someone was stealing from families who'd already lost everything.”
“Did she name Camille?” Malcolm asked.
“Not to me. She named Darius. But she was frightened of a woman who kept appearing at the foundation under different names.”
Ruth slid a photograph across the desk. It showed a charity Christmas party three years earlier. Tasha stood beside a woman wearing a red dress and a short black wig. The woman's face was turned partly away, but Malcolm recognized the gold crescent earrings.
Camille owned those earrings. She had worn them at their wedding.
“I met her after Tasha died,” Malcolm said.
“That's what she wanted you to believe,” Ruth replied.
She opened another folder. Inside was a draft petition alleging that Malcolm was unfit to manage the trust because he traveled excessively and neglected Naomi. It had never been filed.
“Who wrote this?” he asked.
“The metadata points to a computer registered to Darius's firm. Someone wanted a contingency plan.”
Malcolm read the last page. If a court removed him as trustee, a named successor would control Naomi's inheritance until she turned eighteen. The successor was Camille Bennett.
Ruth's phone rang. She answered, listened, and went very still.
May you like
“What is it?” Malcolm asked.
She put the call on speaker. A clerk from her office said someone had broken into the archive overnight. The only missing box was labeled BENNETT—APRIL 9.
