Chapter 8: The Man Who Went First
His name was Terrence Okafor.
He was fifty-four years old, a former technology entrepreneur from Atlanta, and he had been Daniel Marsh's silent partner in a venture fund seven years before Daniel became mine.
We met that afternoon in Patricia's conference room — Robert on one side of the table, Terrence on the other, Patricia at the head with a legal pad already half-filled.
Terrence set a manila envelope on the table without preamble.
"Daniel Marsh approached me in 2017," he said.
"We built a fund together over three years.
In 2020, he presented me with a restructuring agreement.
He said it was to protect the fund from a regulatory change.
I signed it." He paused.
"Six months later, I discovered the restructuring had transferred my equity stake to a holding entity he controlled.
I owned nothing.
The fund I had built was his."
"Did you pursue legal action?" Patricia asked.
"I tried.
His lawyers were faster than mine.
The restructuring document had been prepared by a notary named Gerald Foss.
By the time my attorney identified the irregularities in the notarization, Foss had already moved states and the statute of limitations on the civil claim was running out." Terrence looked at me across the table.
"I settled.
I signed a non-disclosure agreement.
I have lived with that decision for four years."
"Why come forward now?" I asked.
"Because you didn't settle." He said it simply.
"When Patricia's emergency motion hit the public filing system this morning, I saw the name Marsh-Wentworth Family Trust.
I saw Foss's notary number in the supporting documents.
And I thought — someone finally went first."
Patricia opened the manila envelope.
Inside were documents, organized and tabbed.
She scanned the first page and her expression sharpened.
"This is the original restructuring agreement," she said.
"And the original notarization stamp," Terrence said.
"Same registration number as the one on Austin's trust document.
I had a forensic copy made before I signed the NDA.
The NDA covered my testimony.
It did not cover a forensic copy I never disclosed."
Robert leaned forward.
"Is the NDA still enforceable?"
"My attorney says that a non-disclosure agreement cannot be used to conceal ongoing criminal activity.
If Daniel used the same method on Austin that he used on me — and the documents suggest he did — then the NDA is void as an instrument of fraud."
Patricia set the documents down and looked at me.
"Two victims," she said.
"Same notary.
Same structural method.
Seven years apart." She tapped her pen on the legal pad.
"This is no longer a one-time fraud.
This is a pattern.
And a pattern changes everything in terms of criminal exposure."
I looked at Terrence.
"He took everything from you," I said.
"He took the fund.
He didn't take what I built afterward." Terrence's voice was steady.
"But I watched him do it to someone else for four years because I signed a piece of paper that I believed I had to honor." He paused.
"I don't believe that anymore."
We spent two hours in that conference room.
Patricia documented everything.
Robert provided his account of the past three months.
Terrence walked through every detail of the 2020 restructuring.
By the time we finished, Patricia had a timeline spanning seven years, two victims, one notary, and a clear pattern of premeditated financial fraud.
She walked us to the elevator afterward.
"I'm filing a criminal referral today," she said.
"With what Terrence has provided, the DA's office will move quickly.
Daniel's attorney called again while we were meeting.
He's raised the settlement offer."
"Still no," I said.
She nodded once.
"I'll call you when the referral is accepted." She looked at Terrence.
"Thank you for coming forward."
"Thank Austin," Terrence said.
"I just followed."
In the elevator going down, Robert stood beside me and said nothing for a moment.
Then: "Your father would have handled this the same way."
I didn't answer.
But I thought about it the whole drive back to the hospital.
When I got to Irene's room, she was asleep.
I sat in the chair beside her bed and watched her breathe.
The monitor beside her showed two steady lines — hers and the baby's.
I stayed until visiting hours ended.
On the way out, the nurse at the desk stopped me.
"Mr.
Wentworth?
Your mother called the hospital this afternoon.
She asked to be connected to your wife's room."
My hand went still on the counter.
"What did you tell her?"
"That we couldn't confirm or deny patient information to callers." The nurse paused.
"She called three times."
I thanked her and walked to my car.
Margaret had been at the police station all day.
She had been talking without a lawyer.
And now she was calling the hospital.
I called Patricia from the parking lot.
"My mother called Irene's hospital room three times this afternoon," I said.
A pause.
"From the station?"
"I don't know.
Possibly from her own phone if they returned it."
"I'll find out." Another pause.
"Austin.
The detective called me an hour ago.
Your mother has changed her account.
She's no longer saying Irene was stealing.
She's saying Daniel pressured her into it.
She's saying she was afraid of him."
I sat in my car in the hospital parking lot and looked at the lights in the windows above me.
"Is that true?" I asked.
"It may be partially true," Patricia said carefully.
May you like
"It may also be a strategy.
Either way — she's turning on Daniel."
