PART5

Inside was a copy of an email requesting that the apartment lease be renewed.

The email had been sent from an address belonging to Valerie.

Attached was a signed document bearing my name.

But the email contained something even more troubling.

A sentence near the bottom read:

My mother has reviewed the renewal and is fully aware of the terms. Please proceed without delay.

I stared at it.

My daughter hadn’t merely submitted a document.

She had told the landlord that I had reviewed and approved it.

“I never saw this email,” I said.

Ms. Carter nodded.

“That is important. We’ll preserve a copy and ask the landlord to retain the original electronic records.”

I looked at the date.

It was the same week Valerie had borrowed my laptop.

My stomach tightened.

Then Mr. Harrison pulled another page from the envelope.

“This is a note from the management company. They say the renewal request was submitted after a telephone conversation with someone who identified herself as you.”

I felt cold.

“Someone called pretending to be me?”

“That’s what we need to establish,” he replied. “The management company may have call logs or recordings, depending on its procedures.”

I looked from one attorney to the other.

Until that moment, I had imagined Valerie making one desperate decision and hoping no one would notice.

Now I was beginning to understand that the situation might be much more complicated.

Ms. Carter placed a hand on the table.

“Please remember, we don’t know who made that call. Don’t assume more than the evidence supports.”

I nodded.

Then she asked, “Did your daughter ever tell you that she was having serious financial problems?”

I thought about it.

“She always said she was doing well. She and Brandon seemed to have money for expensive dinners, clothes, and trips.”

“Did you ever receive bills or notices from lenders that you didn’t recognize?”

The question made me sit up.

“Yes.”

I reached into my handbag and pulled out a folded letter I had received two months earlier.

At the time, I had thought it was a mistake.

It was a notice from a financial company asking me to verify information connected to an account I didn’t remember opening.

I had called the company, answered a few questions, and been told someone would investigate.

Then I had forgotten about it.

Or, more accurately, I had pushed it aside because I had too many other things to worry about.

Ms. Carter read the letter carefully.

“Did you provide any information over the telephone?”

“Only enough to confirm my identity. I told them I hadn’t opened the account.”

She exchanged a glance with Mr. Harrison.

“We should contact the company again through its official fraud department and request the full application records.”

I felt my mouth go dry.

“How many accounts could there be?”

“We don’t know yet,” she said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. But we should check your credit reports and review any unfamiliar activity.”

For years, I had believed that the greatest danger to my future was having too little money.

Now I wondered whether my greatest danger had been trusting someone with access to the life I had worked so hard to protect.

I agreed to let the attorneys help me investigate.

Before I left, Ms. Carter gave me one final piece of advice.

“Don’t delete any messages. Don’t confront anyone about evidence you haven’t verified. And don’t sign anything new until we have reviewed it.”

I promised I wouldn’t.

I thought the hardest part of the day was over.

I was wrong.

At 12:47 p.m., while I was driving home, my phone rang.

It was the landlord.

“Mrs. Davis, I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “But your daughter’s husband just came into the office.”

I pulled into a parking lot.

“What happened?”

“He wanted us to confirm that you had agreed to remove your name from the lease and transfer the apartment to him.”

I closed my eyes.

“I never agreed to that.”

“I suspected as much. He became upset when I told him we couldn’t make changes without proper documentation.”

“What did he say?”

The landlord hesitated.

“He said you were having memory problems and that your daughter was handling your affairs.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Memory problems.

I was sixty-four years old. I sometimes misplaced my reading glasses, and I occasionally walked into a room and forgot why I had entered it.

But I had never forgotten signing a document because I had never signed it.

Brandon was not merely trying to avoid responsibility.

He was trying to make my objections seem unreliable.

“Did you tell him anything else?” I asked.

“No. I told him that all future requests would need to be submitted in writing and verified.”

I thanked him and ended the call.

Then I sat in my car, staring at the steering wheel.

A strange calm settled over me.

I finally understood why Brandon had wanted me to stop asking questions.

It wasn’t because I was being dramatic.

It was because every question threatened to expose something.

And if he was willing to suggest that I could no longer manage my own affairs, I needed to find out exactly what he and Valerie had been doing.

I called Mr. Harrison.

He told me to forward the landlord’s account in writing and not to contact Brandon directly.

Then he asked me to check my credit reports through the official reporting agencies and make a list of any unfamiliar accounts.

That afternoon, I began.

I found the first unfamiliar inquiry.

Then a second.

By evening, I had discovered a credit card account I did not recognize and an application for a personal loan that had been declined.

The card had been opened several months earlier.

The mailing address was Valerie’s apartment.

I stared at the screen, unable to make sense of the information.

I had helped her get her first credit card when she was young. I had taught her how to pay bills on time, how to save for emergencies, and how to avoid debt.

She knew exactly how hard I had worked to build my credit.

And yet, someone had apparently used my information to apply for credit without my knowledge.

I printed the records and placed them in a new folder.

Then I called the card issuer using the number on its official website.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…