Chương 13
“Very funny.”
“She said I need my own strategy.”
“Against me?”
“Not everything is against you.”
I sat.
She watched me for a moment.
“That’s part of the problem, Damian.”
“What is?”
“You came home and immediately started carrying everything.”
“You could barely stand.”
“I know.”
“And people had been stealing from us.”
“I know.”
“And pretending to be me.”
“I know.”
“Then what exactly was I supposed to do?”
“Not make yourself the only person with decisions.”
The answer irritated me.
Probably because it was fair.
“I’m trying to fix this.”
“I’m trying to live through it.”
That silenced me.
She looked down at her hands.
“I need treatment decisions, housing, food, maybe months of help, and now I have to prove I didn’t open some account.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“And every time you say you’ll handle it, part of me is grateful.”
She swallowed.
“And part of me feels like I’m back in that house.”
I sat very still.
“I didn’t know I was doing that.”
“I know.”
The kindness in the answer made it worse.
“I’ll stop.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Don’t stop helping.”
“Then what?”
“Ask.”
That was all.
One word.
Ask.
I nodded.
“Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me involved with Miriam?”
“Some things.”
“Do you want me to confront Godfrey?”
“No.”
That answer came immediately.
“Why?”
“Because I want to see what they do when they think we still don’t know.”
I stared at her.
She gave me a tired smile.
“Maybe you’re not the only one who can make a trap.”
By late afternoon, Lena called with another piece.
The account in Phedra’s name had not only been used to move money.
It had also received a deposit from Godfrey’s business marked CONSULTING PAYMENT.
The amount was nine thousand dollars.
There was no corresponding contract.
No invoice.
No evidence Phedra had ever worked for the shop.
Then Lena found something worse.
A loan application from the previous year listed Phedra as a paid administrative consultant for GDF Premier Auto.
Her stated annual income was forty-eight thousand dollars.
The application included her name, address, date of birth, and a signature.
Phedra stared at the copy Lena sent.
“That is not my signature.”
I looked closer.
It resembled hers.
Not perfectly.
Enough to pass at a glance.
Phedra zoomed in.
“I never make my P like that.”
I remembered birthday cards.
Grocery lists.
Notes on the refrigerator.
She was right.
Her P always leaned backward.
This one stood straight.
“Who would know your information?”
She laughed once without humor.
“Everyone in that house.”
The loan had been approved.
The borrowed money had gone into Godfrey’s business.
That changed the scale of things.
It was no longer only about my transfers.
Someone had used Phedra’s identity to strengthen Godfrey’s financial position.
Miriam advised her to file an identity theft report and begin formal disputes with the bank and lender.
Phedra agreed.
I asked before offering to help.
She noticed.
“Thank you.”
That evening, Godfrey texted me.
Mom says you left angry.
I waited ten minutes before answering.
Just tired.
His reply came quickly.
We should finish talking about the investment.
I showed Phedra.
She read it twice.
“He still thinks he can get the money.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to do?”
The question almost made me answer automatically.
Then I stopped.
“What do you want to do?”
Phedra looked surprised.
Then thoughtful.
“I want him to keep talking.”
“So do I.”
“Not because I want revenge.”
“I do want revenge.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“At least you’re admitting it.”
I sat on the edge of the chair.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want him to say what he thinks happened.”
“He’ll lie.”
“Probably.”
“But?”
“But people get careless when they think the argument is about the wrong thing.”
I smiled despite myself.
“When did you become Lena?”
“Hospital oatmeal changes a person.”
The next morning, Godfrey asked me to meet him at the shop after closing.
Not Selina’s house.
Not the hospital.
The shop.
He said he had found the older records.
I told him I would come.
Before leaving, I asked Phedra if she still wanted me to.
“Yes.”
“Anything you want me not to say?”
“Don’t tell him about the account.”
“Anything else?”
“Don’t promise him money.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
She gave me a look.
“Damian.”
“I won’t.”
The shop was dark except for Godfrey’s office and one light over the rear service bay.
He had locked the front doors.
When I entered, he waved me upstairs.
A cardboard file box sat on the floor beside his desk.
“No staff?”
“Closed at six.”
He opened the box.
“Everything I could find.”
I sat down.
He did not.
“That account Mom mentioned.”
“The old one?”
“Yes.”
“There were transfers through it.”
“I know.”
“Victor was bleeding her dry.”
“You mean my money.”
He exhaled.
“Yes.”
The admission came easier now.
“She was terrified you’d find out.”
“And you helped.”
“I helped her manage it.”
“You helped pay him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she was falling apart.”
I looked through the papers.
The records were messy.
Some originals.
Some copies.
Some missing months.
“What did Victor have on Winston?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom said he had proof Winston paid him.”
“Maybe.”
“You saw it?”
“No.”
“Then why believe him?”
“Because Mom did.”
I turned another page.
There were transfers to Victor.
More than Selina had admitted.
Ten thousand.
Eight.
Twelve.
Five.
The total exceeded one hundred thousand.
My hands went still.
“Godfrey.”
He looked at me.
“This is more than eighty-five.”
“I know.”
“How much total?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You know.”
He rubbed his mouth.
“Maybe one-twenty.”
I stared at him.
He looked miserable.
Not frightened.
Miserable.
That was different.
“Why didn’t you stop it?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Before the shop.”
I almost laughed.
“Before you needed the money yourself.”
His face hardened.
“That’s not fair.”
May you like
“It keeps being true.”
He turned toward the window.
