PART5

“Are you safe? Are you somewhere comfortable?”

That simple question nearly broke me.

For two weeks, I had received accusations, threats, and demands.

Not one person in my immediate family had asked that.

But my aunt had.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m safe. I have a little cabin in the mountains. It’s peaceful.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted to know.”

She paused.

Then she said something unexpected.

“Your mother told me something else. She said you had been acting strangely for months, and that she was worried you might be planning something against the family.”

I stared at the window.

“Did she tell you that she had been asking me for money during those same months?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you that I was paying Lily’s car loan?”

“No.”

I took a slow breath.

“Aunt Margaret, I don’t want to fight with anyone. I just want to live my own life.”

“I understand.”

Then she lowered her voice.

“There’s something I think you should know.”

“What?”

“Before they left for Italy, your father called your uncle and asked whether he could borrow some money.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“He said there had been an unexpected financial problem. He needed several thousand dollars.”

My stomach tightened.

“What kind of financial problem?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t explain much. But he sounded desperate.”

I looked down at the table.

My parents had supposedly planned their anniversary trip months in advance.

They had paid for flights and hotels.

And now my father was asking relatives for money?

“Did Uncle David lend it to him?”

“No. He said he couldn’t afford to.”

I swallowed.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Aunt Margaret hesitated.

“Victoria, I don’t want to make things worse, but I think you should check your credit.”

My entire body went cold.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Your father mentioned something about needing your information for a financial application. He said you had agreed to help him.”

I couldn’t breathe properly.

“What financial application?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe I’m misunderstanding. But please check.”

After we hung up, I sat motionless.

Then I opened my laptop.

I checked my credit accounts.

Everything appeared normal at first.

No unfamiliar credit cards.

No unexpected loans.

No new accounts.

I was about to close the page when I remembered something.

Four months earlier, my father had asked me to send him a copy of my identification.

He said the bank needed it to update some household records because my name was still associated with the mortgage.

I had sent him a scanned copy without thinking twice.

At the time, it seemed harmless.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I opened my email and searched for the conversation.

There it was.

A message from Dad.

Vicki, can you send me a copy of your ID? The bank needs to update the family file. Nothing serious. Just paperwork.

I stared at the message.

Then I noticed the attachment.

It was a document I had never opened.

The filename was:

Loan Application — Supporting Documents.

My hands began trembling.

I downloaded it.

And when I opened the first page, I saw my full legal name.

My date of birth.

My identification number.

And a signature.

A signature that looked disturbingly similar to mine.

But I had never signed that document.

I read the heading again.

Personal Loan Application.

The applicant was my father.

The supporting guarantor was listed as:

Victoria.

I slowly scrolled down.

There was a section containing the guarantor’s declared monthly income.

My salary was listed.

There was also a declaration stating that I had agreed to accept financial responsibility if the borrower failed to make payments.

At the bottom of the page was the signature.

My signature.

Or something designed to look like it.

I felt sick.

I immediately called my lawyer.

He answered after two rings.

“Victoria?”

“I found something.”

“What is it?”

“My father used my identification for a loan application.”

Silence.

“What do you mean?”

I emailed him the document while we were speaking.

“I never signed this. I never agreed to guarantee his loan.”

“Don’t touch anything else. I’m opening the document now.”

I heard his keyboard.

Then several seconds passed.

Finally, he spoke.

“Victoria, this is serious.”

My eyes filled with tears.

“Did he commit fraud?”

“I can’t determine that from one document. We need to establish whether this was submitted, whether the lender relied on it, and whether your signature was authorized or forged.”

“What should I do?”

“First, preserve the original email and attachment. Don’t alter anything. I’ll contact the lender through the appropriate channels and help you formally dispute the application.”

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

“Why would he do this?”

My lawyer’s voice became firm.

“That’s a question we’ll need to investigate. But there’s one more thing I noticed.”

“What?”

“The application was submitted four months ago.”

“Yes.”

“And the loan amount is considerably larger than the amount your aunt mentioned.”

I looked at the screen.

My eyes moved to the figure printed near the top.

.

I blinked.

Then I leaned closer.

$48,000.

Forty-eight thousand dollars.

My father had apparently attempted to borrow forty-eight thousand dollars using my identity as a guarantor.

I couldn’t speak.

Then my lawyer asked:

“Victoria, did your parents ever mention why they needed that much money?”

“No.”

“Did your father tell you about any major financial difficulties?”

“No. He said everything was fine.”

There was a long pause.

Then he said:

“I’m going to investigate this. But Victoria, I want you to understand something. This may be much bigger than the dispute over the furniture.”

I stared at the document.

For ten years, I had been helping my parents financially because I believed they were struggling.

I had sacrificed my savings.

I had paid their bills.

I had covered my sister’s mistakes.

And now I was looking at evidence that my father might have been using my personal information to obtain credit without my knowledge.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

A message appeared.

It was from Lily.

For the first time since the family returned from Italy, she wasn’t calling me names.

She wasn’t demanding that I return the television.

She wasn’t accusing me of ruining the house.

Instead, she wrote:

Vicki, please call me. I know what’s happening, and there’s something Mom and Dad haven’t told you. I didn’t know how bad it was until we got back from Italy.

I stared at the message.

Then another arrived.

Dad is going to blame me if you find out. But I swear I didn’t know he used your name.

My heart began beating faster.

I typed one question.

What did Dad do, Lily?

The three little dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then her reply came through.

The $48,000 wasn’t for the house, Vicki. It was supposed to pay off something Dad has been hiding for almost two years.

I stopped breathing.

Because whatever my father had been hiding, it had apparently been serious enough for him to use my identity.

And Lily knew exactly where the money had gone.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…