PART6

“Whatever happens next, don’t tell Carter that I’m angry. Don’t tell him I’m emotional. Don’t tell him this is about his birthday joke.”

I paused.

“Tell him I’m getting legal advice.”

Then I ended the call.

At 5:48 p.m., Robert called me back.

“Matthew, I’ve reviewed the documents.”

“And?”

“The signature is suspicious. We need the original application and the lender’s submission records, but I agree that this needs to be treated seriously.”

“What should I do?”

“First, file a formal identity and signature dispute with the lender. Second, review your credit reports and financial accounts for unfamiliar applications. Third, preserve the original documents. Don’t alter anything.”

“What about the Porsche?”

“If the vehicle is legally yours, the lender cannot simply treat it as David’s property because he submitted an application. But let me review the title, the application, and any relevant agreements before we take further action.”

“Understood.”

“And Matthew?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let your family pressure you into signing anything or returning documents without understanding what they are.”

I looked at the folder on my desk.

“I won’t.”

After the call, I sat quietly for a while.

Then I opened my banking account.

I reviewed the emergency card.

The spending history.

The payments.

The transactions.

And for the first time, I began making a list.

Not of what I owed them.

But of everything I had paid on their behalf.

Mortgage assistance.

Car insurance.

School expenses.

Medical bills.

Groceries.

Vacation emergencies.

Home repairs.

There were thousands of dollars I had completely forgotten about.

And then there were the fifteen thousand dollars from the credit card.

I downloaded everything.

I wasn’t doing it to punish them.

I was doing it because I was finished living inside a story where everyone remembered what I had supposedly failed to do, but nobody remembered what I had actually done.

At 7:12 p.m., someone knocked on my front door.

I looked through the glass.

Carter.

He was standing on my porch wearing a black hoodie, expensive sneakers, and the same arrogant expression he had worn at my birthday dinner.

But something was different.

He wasn’t smiling.

I opened the door.

“What do you want?”

He pushed past me.

“Where’s my Porsche?”

I closed the door.

“Good evening, Carter.”

“Don’t start.”

He turned toward me.

“I want my car back.”

“It’s not your car.”

He laughed.

“Seriously? You’re still doing this?”

“Yes.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

I looked at him.

“Interesting choice of words.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Look, Uncle Matt. I know you’re mad about the punch thing. It was a joke. Everyone laughed.”

“Not everyone.”

“My grandmother laughed.”

“Your grandmother also thinks you can do no wrong.”

He stepped closer.

“Just give me the keys.”

“No.”

His expression changed.

“You can’t keep my car.”

“I can keep my property.”

“Dad says you signed everything over to me.”

“Your father is mistaken.”

Carter looked away for a second.

Then he laughed again.

“Whatever. He said you’d eventually calm down.”

I studied his face.

“Did your father also tell you about the $85,000 loan application?”

The laughter disappeared.

His eyes moved toward mine.

For a brief moment, he looked genuinely frightened.

Then he recovered.

“What loan?”

I said nothing.

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Can I go now?”

“You came here demanding a car. Now you’re pretending you don’t know anything about the financial documents connected to it.”

He looked at me angrily.

“Why do you always have to make everything complicated?”

I almost smiled.

“Because somebody has to be responsible.”

He shook his head.

“You know what? You’re the reason Mom and Dad are struggling. You act like you’re better than everyone because you have a good job and some money.”

I stared at him.

“Carter, I have spent years helping your parents.”

“Then keep helping them!”

There it was.

The entitlement.

The complete absence of gratitude.

He genuinely believed that because I had money, I was obligated to provide it.

I walked toward the door and opened it.

“Go home.”

He didn’t move.

“I’m serious.”

He looked at me for several seconds.

Then he pointed a finger at my chest.

“You’re going to regret this.”

I looked down at his finger.

Then back at him.

“No, Carter. I think that’s what you’re finally starting to understand.”

He stormed out.

Before reaching his car, he turned around.

“One more thing. Dad says you’re not the only one who knows how to play dirty.”

I watched him walk down the driveway.

Then I closed the door.

My phone vibrated almost immediately.

A message from Robert.

Matthew, I just received another document from the lender. You need to see this immediately.

I opened the attachment.

It was another page from the loan application.

At the top was the name of the applicant.

David Davis.

Below it was the proposed collateral.

My Porsche Macan.

And at the bottom was a second signature.

This one belonged to someone else.

Jessica Davis.

But it wasn’t the signature that made me stop breathing.

It was the handwritten statement beside it.

I confirm that Matthew Davis has verbally authorized the use of this vehicle as security and has agreed to transfer ownership if the loan is approved.

I read the sentence again.

Then I looked at the date.

The application had been submitted eleven days before my birthday.

Eleven days before Carter threw the cherry punch.

Eleven days before I canceled the credit card.

Eleven days before I took back the Porsche.

Suddenly, I understood why Jessica had been so desperate to get me to return the car.

They weren’t just losing a luxury vehicle.

They were losing access to an $85,000 loan they had already planned to spend.

But just as I was about to forward the document to Robert, another email arrived.

This one was from my bank’s fraud department.

The subject line was simple.

ADDITIONAL ACCOUNT ACTIVITY REQUIRING YOUR ATTENTION.

I opened it.

There was a list of three recent financial inquiries.

The first involved the Porsche.

The second involved a personal loan.

The third involved a credit application.

All three had been submitted using my personal information.

And all three had one contact number in common.

Jessica’s.

I sat completely still.

Then my phone rang.

It was Robert.

I answered immediately.

“Matthew, don’t panic. But I think we need to investigate something much bigger.”

“What did you find?”

He paused.

Then he said:

“Someone may have been using your identity for months. And based on the dates, this may have started long before the Porsche application.”

I looked toward the family photograph on my bookshelf.

Jessica.

Carter.

David.

My mother.

Four people I had spent years protecting.

I had once believed that if I kept helping them, they would eventually understand how much I loved them.

Now I was beginning to wonder whether they had ever seen me as anything other than an opportunity.

And the worst part?

I still didn’t know how much of my life they had been using without my permission.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART7…