PART7

At 10:15 that morning, I learned that my daughter’s wedding had not simply excluded me from a celebration. It had placed me in the middle of a financial scheme that could have cost me everything I had spent thirty years building.

And the most shocking part was that my daughter might not have been the person who started it.

I arrived at Mr. Harrison’s office carrying the photograph from the unknown number. My hands were cold, and I had barely slept. All night, I had wondered why Susan Collins would use my personal information to apply for a loan.

I had never borrowed money from her.

I had never done business with her.

Until that week, I had barely exchanged more than a dozen meaningful sentences with the woman.

Mr. Harrison greeted me at the door and led me into his office. Ms. Carter was already there, with several documents spread across the table.

“Mrs. Davis,” she began, “we have to be careful about what we conclude. The records raise serious concerns, but we still need the lender’s full investigation and original documentation.”

I nodded.

“Just tell me what you know.”

She opened a folder.

“There appear to be two applications associated with your personal information. One is connected to the credit card account we discussed yesterday. The other is a personal loan application submitted through a financial company.”

“How much?”

She looked at the paper.

“The requested loan was for $48,000.”

For a moment, the number meant nothing to me.

Forty-eight thousand dollars.

That was more money than I had ever kept in my savings account at one time.

It represented years of cleaning houses, selling homemade snacks, and taking every small job I could find.

“Was the loan approved?” I whispered.

“The lender’s preliminary records indicate that the funds were disbursed. However, we still need to verify the account that received the money and determine who authorized the transaction.”

I gripped the edge of the table.

“Where did the money go?”

“That is what we’re investigating.”

Then Ms. Carter showed me the application.

My name appeared at the top.

My former address appeared beneath it.

My Social Security number was listed in the identification section.

But the contact email belonged to Susan Collins.

And the application listed Susan as an authorized representative.

I stared at the page.

“How could she be authorized to represent me? I’ve never given her permission.”

“That is a central question,” Ms. Carter replied. “We will need to ask the lender how that authorization was recorded and whether any supporting documents were submitted.”

Mr. Harrison leaned back in his chair.

“There’s something else. The application was submitted six days before the courthouse wedding.”

I looked up.

Six days.

My daughter had been preparing to marry Brandon while someone was applying for a loan using my identity.

Then I remembered the wedding photograph.

The table with the gift envelopes.

The balloons.

The flowers.

The string quartet.

The cake.

Valerie had told me they had held a small ceremony because they wanted to avoid the stress and expense of a big wedding.

But there had been enough money for a celebration that looked anything but small.

“Do you think the loan paid for the wedding?” I asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Ms. Carter said. “We should not assume that the timing proves how the money was used.”

She was right.

But the question had already taken root in my mind.

I had paid for my daughter’s college education.

I had helped her obtain her apartment.

I had covered bills she couldn’t afford.

And while I was sitting at home believing she was struggling to get established, someone might have been borrowing tens of thousands of dollars in my name.

I felt sick.

Then Mr. Harrison slid another document toward me.

“This is the most important page we received this morning.”

It was a transaction summary from the lender.

The loan proceeds had been transferred to a business account.

The business was registered under a company name I didn’t recognize.

Collins Event and Consulting LLC.

Susan’s company.

I looked at the attorneys.

“So the money went to her?”

“The records show that the funds were transferred to an account associated with that company,” Ms. Carter explained. “We still need to establish who controlled the account, who benefited from the money, and whether the transfer was authorized.”

I stared at Susan’s name.

For the first time, I understood why Brandon had been so eager to discourage me from involving lawyers.

If the application had been submitted without my permission, then this wasn’t simply a family disagreement about money.

It was a matter that required a formal investigation.

And I wasn’t going to let anyone persuade me to look the other way.

“Please do whatever is necessary to protect me,” I said.

Mr. Harrison nodded.

“We will. But I need you to prepare yourself for something. Once the investigation progresses, the people involved may start blaming one another.”

I almost smiled.

“They’ve already started.”

That afternoon, I received a call from Valerie.

I watched her name appear on my screen for several seconds before answering.

“Mom?”

Her voice was small.

“I’m here.”

“Can I come over?”

I looked at the clock.

“I think we should meet somewhere public. The attorneys have advised me not to discuss the evidence privately while the investigation is ongoing.”

She was silent.

Then she whispered, “You really don’t trust me anymore.”

I closed my eyes.

“I trust what I can verify, Valerie. Right now, there are too many unanswered questions.”

She began crying.

“Brandon left this morning.”

My heart tightened despite everything.

“What do you mean, he left?”

“He packed a suitcase and went to his mother’s house. He said he couldn’t live with someone whose family was trying to destroy him.”

I didn’t respond.

“He says you are making false accusations,” she continued. “He says the loan was a business arrangement, and you must have forgotten agreeing to it.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Did you ever see me sign the application?”

“No.”

“Did I ever tell you I was borrowing $48,000?”

“No.”

“Did I ever tell you that Susan could act on my behalf?”

“No.”

“Then why are you repeating what Brandon says?”

She stopped crying.

For a moment, I heard only her breathing.

Finally, she said, “Because I don’t know what else to believe.”

That answer hurt me more than I expected.

My daughter had spent years trusting a man who could afford expensive watches but apparently could not afford the life he wanted without someone else’s money.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART8…