Chapter 2 - THE SON WHO SAID DAD GAVE HIM PERMISSION
I left Dad’s house in an ambulance.
Not because Marcus’s punch had seriously injured me, but because I had briefly lost balance after striking the pew, and the responding deputy wanted my head checked.
At OhioHealth Riverside, a doctor diagnosed a split lip, facial bruising, and a mild concussion.
Marcus spent those same hours telling deputies I had “provoked” him by hiding estate property.
He also began explaining the transfers.
Dad authorized them.
Dad wanted him to have the money early.
Dad trusted his son to make investments.
Dad had always intended Marcus to receive the business interests.
According to Marcus, every suspicious document had one convenient explanation:
Permission.
Samuel sat beside my hospital bed while I read the preliminary police report.
“Was Dad aware Marcus was taking money?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Longer than you think.”
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
“Your father asked me not to tell you until he could determine the extent.”
Anger rose immediately.
“I was paying his electric bill while Marcus was taking hundreds of thousands of dollars?”
Samuel did not defend Dad.
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
The answer disarmed me.
Samuel explained that eight months earlier, Dad noticed an unfamiliar loan payment coming out of one rental-property account. He asked Marcus.
Marcus said it was temporary financing connected to repairs.
Dad checked.
There had been no repairs.
That was when Samuel hired Peter Collins quietly and contacted the bank.
The audit uncovered transfers through three companies:
MG Development Partners
Buckeye Advisory Group
VLS Holdings
The first was controlled by Marcus.
The second by an old college friend.
The third by Vanessa.
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Guess.”
“Possibly more than two million dollars if the property liens are included.”
Two million.
Marcus had been screaming about exactly that amount inside Dad’s study.
I remembered his words:
Dad told me there was at least two million in the safe.
Samuel looked at me.
“Your father never told Marcus there were two million dollars in the safe.”
“Then why does he believe that?”
Samuel paused.
“Because your father wanted him to.”
That answer stayed with me overnight.
The next morning, Marcus’s attorney called Samuel with an offer.
Marcus would apologize for the funeral assault if I agreed not to pursue “family financial misunderstandings” aggressively until probate was complete.
I stared at Samuel.
“He punched me at Dad’s coffin and wants a settlement before the will is even read?”
Samuel nodded.
“Fear makes greedy people fast.”
Dad’s words again.
May you like
This time they sounded less like bitterness.
More like instructions.
