Chương 11
Chloé sniffed.
“Thomas, I didn’t think she was stealing your identity.”
He looked at the speaker.
“What did you think?”
“I thought she had permission.”
“You just said you wanted to believe her.”
“I did.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
Thomas stood.
Claire could see his hand shaking.
Chloé continued.
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did your first message today say Dad was lying and Claire poisoned me against the family?”
Silence.
Claire had not expected him to ask that.
Neither had Chloé.
Finally, she said, “Mom told me Dad took the documents to you because he wanted to save himself.”
“He probably does.”
Paul looked up.
Thomas did not look at him.
“But that doesn’t make Mom innocent.”
Chloé began crying harder.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“The truth.”
“I’m telling you.”
“All of it.”
“I am.”
“No.”
Thomas’s voice stayed controlled.
“You’re giving me the part that makes you look confused.”
Chloé stopped crying for a second.
Claire watched Paul’s expression tighten.
Thomas continued.
“What happened when the payments started being missed?”
Chloé said nothing.
Thomas looked at Paul.
Paul frowned.
Then he understood.
“The notices,” Paul said.
Thomas nodded.
“Those notices went somewhere.”
Chloé’s breathing changed.
Thomas’s voice went flat.
“Where did they go?”
“To Mom.”
“No.”
Thomas stared at the phone.
“The apartment is yours.”
Silence.
“Where did the lender send notices?”
Chloé whispered, “My address.”
Claire felt her stomach drop.
Thomas closed his eyes.
“How many did you get?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
Paul stood abruptly.
“You got four notices?”
Chloé heard him.
“Dad?”
Paul stepped closer to the phone.
“You knew payments were being missed?”
“They weren’t always missed.”
“How long?”
Chloé started crying again.
“Since spring.”
Thomas looked at Claire.
Spring.
Months.
Not days.
Not a mistake discovered yesterday.
Months.
“What did Mom tell you to do with them?” Thomas asked.
Chloé did not answer.
Thomas waited.
Finally, she whispered, “Throw them away.”
Paul’s face went gray.
Thomas looked down at the loan agreement.
Claire could almost see the remaining pieces locking into place.
Marie had forged the door open.
Chloé had walked through it.
Then, when warning letters began arriving, she had chosen not to look back.
Thomas picked up the phone from the table.
“Do not destroy anything else.”
Chloé inhaled sharply.
“I haven’t.”
“Keep every letter, email, message, document, envelope, all of it.”
“What are you going to do?”
Thomas looked at Claire.
Then at Paul.
Then toward the hallway where Léa’s small voice drifted from the other room.
“I’m going to find out exactly what my name has been used for.”
Chloé went quiet.
“And after that?”
Thomas’s expression did not change.
“After that, I decide what family money actually means.”
Chloé did not answer.
Thomas ended the call before she could turn the silence into another argument.
For a moment, he stood in Emma’s living room holding the phone at his side.
Paul watched him carefully.
Claire knew that look.
Paul was waiting to see whether his son would explode.
Thomas did something worse.
He sat down.
The phone remained in his hand.
His thumb moved over the dark screen without unlocking it.
Emma came back from the hallway carrying two crayons Léa had apparently abandoned in her pocket.
“What now?”
Thomas looked at Claire before answering.
“We find out whether the apartment is the only thing.”
Emma stopped.
Paul closed his eyes.
Claire heard herself say, “It probably isn’t.”
Thomas looked at her.
She wished immediately that she had not said it.
Not because she thought she was wrong.
Because he looked as though he had been using the possibility that there was only one fraud as the last intact board beneath his feet.
Paul leaned forward.
“Marie had copies of your identification.”
Thomas gave him a sharp look.
“Why?”
“Your grandfather’s estate.”
“That was six years ago.”
“She kept everything.”
“What does everything mean?”
Paul rubbed his mouth.
“Tax records.”
Thomas’s posture changed.
“Mine?”
“Some.”
“Bank statements?”
“I don’t know.”
“Passport copy?”
Paul hesitated.
Thomas stood.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
Claire felt a cold pressure under her ribs.
“Why would she have his passport?”
Paul looked at Claire.
“She handled paperwork when the trust was being settled.”
Thomas began pacing.
“Driver’s license?”
“I think so.”
“Social security number?”
Paul’s silence answered.
Emma whispered, “Jesus.”
Thomas looked at his father.
“You gave her all of that?”
“No.”
“Then how did she get it?”
“Thomas, she’s your mother.”
The sentence landed badly.
Paul seemed to hear it only after he said it.
Thomas stared at him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you sent documents.”
“When?”
“Over the years.”
Thomas looked toward Claire.
She could see memories moving behind his eyes now.
Applications.
Tax questions.
An insurance form Marie once said she needed.
Photographs of identification sent because it was quicker than driving across town.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing that had felt dangerous at the time.
Claire sat beside him.
“Check your credit.”
Thomas nodded.
His hands were shaking again.
Emma went to retrieve Léa before she wandered back into the room.
Paul remained on the couch, small and gray in the winter light.
Thomas opened his phone.
Claire watched him navigate through the first credit bureau site.
He had trouble remembering the password.
He tried twice.
Locked out.
“Of course.”
Claire touched his arm.
“Use the recovery link.”
“I know.”
“You’re pressing the wrong thing.”
“I know.”
“You are literally pressing the wrong thing.”
He looked at her.
She raised both hands.
“Fine.”
He recovered the account.
The page loaded slowly enough to become insulting.
Thomas refreshed it once.
Claire stopped him from doing it again.
Then the report appeared.
At first, nothing looked wrong.
Their mortgage.
A credit card.
An old car loan that had been closed.
Thomas scrolled.
He stopped.
Claire saw the entry before he said anything.
A personal line of credit.
Opened four years earlier.
May you like
Current balance: thirty-six thousand eight hundred.
Thomas stared.
