I looked at Pam. “And you believed him?” Her face crumpled.

“I thought I was helping you, Gary. Jordan told me you had started gambling and were too ashamed to admit it. He said the debt was getting worse, and he was afraid you would lose everything if people found out.”

“Everything,” I repeated quietly. I almost laughed at the word.

If Pam had known what I had signed for that week, she would have understood just how strange the situation was. But I wasn’t ready to tell her about the sale. Not yet.

I wanted answers first.

“Jordan,” I said, “you told your mother I was gambling in Oklahoma.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“From whom?”

He shifted in his chair.

“I don’t remember exactly.”

“You don’t remember who told you your stepfather was losing thousands of dollars at casinos?”

“It was a while ago.”

“Then let’s make it easier. Have you ever seen me walk into a casino?”

He looked at the table.

“Have you ever seen me place a bet?”

“Gary—”

“Have you ever seen me gamble a dollar?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“No.”

“Have you ever seen a casino charge on any account that belongs to me?”

His jaw tightened.

“Look, I told Mom what she needed to hear so she’d help me. I was going to fix it.”

There it was.

Not an accident. Not a misunderstanding. Not an innocent mistake made in desperation.

A confession.

Pam covered her mouth.

“You lied to me?”

Jordan turned toward her.

“Mom, I was desperate.”

“You told me Gary was gambling!”

“I needed the money!”

“And you let me believe my husband was destroying his life?”

“Mom, please. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

She stood so quickly that her chair scraped across the tile.

“Bigger than it is? I’ve spent almost three years believing the man I married was secretly gambling away his future. I took money out of my retirement because you told me you were saving him from himself!”

Jordan stood too.

“You’re acting like I stole millions!”

“No,” I said. “I’m acting like you stole something that didn’t belong to you.”

He turned toward me, his face red.

“You’re really going to stand there and judge me? You don’t know what it’s like to struggle. You drive that beat-up truck and work at that little storage place every day. You have no idea what it costs to live anymore.”

I studied him for a long moment.

“You know what I learned working at that storage place, Jordan?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Here we go.”

“People put their belongings into storage when their lives change. Sometimes they’re getting divorced. Sometimes they’re losing a business. Sometimes they have to move their families into smaller houses because they made financial mistakes. And sometimes they’re just trying to keep one small piece of their lives from falling apart.”

I paused.

“I’ve watched people lose everything they owned. I’ve seen men come into my office with their wives crying in the parking lot. I’ve seen fathers sell their tools to pay rent. I’ve seen elderly couples put their furniture in a unit because they could no longer afford their home.”

I leaned forward.

“And every one of those people had something you seem to have forgotten.”

“What’s that?”

“Responsibility.”

Jordan scoffed.

“Fine. I’m irresponsible. Congratulations. Can we move on?”

“Not until we understand where the money went.”

I opened the folder.

Inside were copies of the three credit-card applications, a printed credit report, several bank records, and a sheet of paper with a list of transactions I had spent most of the afternoon assembling.

Jordan looked at the first page.

His expression changed.

Then he looked at the second.

The color slowly drained from his face.

“Where did you get those?”

“From the companies that issued the cards.”

“You can’t just get my information!”

“My name is on the accounts.”

“They’re not your accounts!”

“Then why did you open them using my Social Security number?”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

I pushed the transaction sheet toward him.

“Your mother told me she’s been paying seven hundred dollars a month. For almost three years. But the balances on these accounts barely moved. The interest is high, of course, but not high enough to explain everything.”

I tapped the first line.

“These are the payments your mother made.”

Then I tapped the second column.

“These are the purchases and cash advances.”

I let him read.

The charges included hotel rooms, electronics, expensive meals, cash withdrawals, and payments to an online gambling service.

There were also transfers to a bank account that wasn’t mine.

And there were charges at casinos.

Not my casino charges.

His.

Jordan stared at the sheet.

“Those records don’t tell the whole story.”

“Then tell me the rest.”

He glanced at Pam.

She was crying silently now, but she wasn’t looking at me.

She was looking at her son.

“Jordan,” she whispered. “Please tell me there’s something here you can explain.”

He swallowed.

“I was going to pay it back.”

“That isn’t an explanation.”

“I had a bad run. I thought I could win enough to clear the cards, and then I got behind. I just needed time.”

“How much did you lose?” I asked.

He looked at me with open resentment.

“That’s none of your business.”

“You’re right. Your gambling losses alone might not be my business. But the money you obtained using my identity is.”

I reached into the folder and removed another page.

“There’s something else.”

Jordan pushed his chair back slightly.

I had spent the afternoon talking to the card companies, my bank, and an attorney I’d known for more than twenty years. I had also asked for copies of the applications and account histories available to me.

The details were worse than I’d expected.

The cards had been opened in my name, but the applications included contact information that belonged to Jordan. One used his email address. Another listed a phone number he’d used for years. The mailing address was his apartment on Sayles Boulevard.

And the signatures weren’t mine.

I held up one application.

“Do you recognize this signature?”

Jordan didn’t answer.

“Look at it.”

He glanced at the page.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s interesting. Because it looks an awful lot like the signature on the lease for your apartment.”

He slammed his palm against the table.

“All right! I did it! Are you happy now?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART4…