Chương 12
I almost smiled.
He helped me organize the messages by date and advised me to contact a civilian family-law attorney if the custody case pulled me in formally.
Before ending the call, he asked one final question.
"Has your mother ever used your financial information without permission?"
I almost said no.
Then a memory surfaced.
Three years earlier, a credit-card company had called about an application I never submitted.
Martha had said it must be identity theft.
Penny had laughed and told me my information was probably floating around the internet anyway.
I had frozen my credit and forgotten about it.
My mouth went dry.
"There was something."
Captain Ellis's tone sharpened slightly.
"What something?"
I told him.
"Check your credit reports."
I opened them that evening after Hazel fell asleep.
Two inquiries I recognized.
One I did not.
Then I found an old closed account from three years earlier.
The mailing address attached to the application was not mine.
It was Martha's.
I stared at Martha's address until the letters blurred.
The account itself had been closed with a zero balance, which should have been reassuring.
It wasn't.
I clicked through the details.
The card had been opened in my name, used for six months, and paid off in irregular chunks.
The highest balance had been just under four thousand dollars.
I had never seen the statements because they had gone to my mother's house.
My pulse began beating hard enough that I could feel it in my throat.
I called the credit-card company.
The first representative transferred me to fraud.
The second asked security questions I could answer and transaction questions I could not.
"There's a hotel charge in Orlando," she said.
"I've never stayed there."
"Do you recognize a merchant called Bella Nova Salon?"
"No."
"What about Preston Ridge Apartments?"
My mouth went dry.
That was Penny's old complex.
"Yes."
There was silence on the line.
"Do you recognize the charge?"
"No."
The representative's tone became more careful.
"Ma'am, because the account is closed, we're going to open a historical fraud review."
"Can you tell me who made the payments?"
"Not without further verification."
"Was it my mother?"
"I can't speculate."
I hated how many professionals had learned to say that.
"What happens now?"
"We'll document the dispute and preserve available records."
"From three years ago?"
"Some records may no longer be available."
The answer landed exactly where fear had been waiting.
Evidence did not live forever just because betrayal did.
I wrote down the case number.
Then I called Captain Ellis back.
He listened without interrupting.
"Do not contact your mother about this tonight," he said.
"I wasn't planning to."
That was a lie.
I had already opened our message thread.
My thumb had been hovering over the keyboard.
He continued.
"If there was unauthorized use of your identity, let the creditor and the appropriate investigators establish what can be established."
"What if she denies it?"
"She probably will."
The simplicity of the answer stopped me.
"What if Penny did it?"
"Same advice."
"What if both of them did?"
"Same advice."
I rubbed my eyes.
Hazel made a tiny squeak from the bassinet.
Captain Ellis softened his voice.
"You have a newborn, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then I am giving you very unexciting legal advice."
"Good."
"Sleep when you can."
I almost laughed.
"That's not legal advice."
"No."
"It's also impossible."
"Still sound."
After the call, I opened the FAMILY folder and added the fraud case number.
Then I renamed the folder.
I called it RECORDS.
The new name felt better.
Less emotional.
Less dishonest.
At six thirty the next morning, Daniel called.
His connection was worse than the night before.
His face froze every few seconds, usually while making an unfortunate expression.
I told him about the account.
He went completely still.
At first, I thought the video had frozen again.
Then he said, "How long have you known?"
"About twelve hours."
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"How long have you known something like this was possible?"
The question hurt because it was fair.
"I didn't."
"Maya."
"I didn't."
"Someone applied for credit in your name three years ago, and your mother's address was on the account."
"I just found the address."
"But there was an application."
"I froze my credit."
"And then what?"
I looked away.
"Nothing."
"Why?"
Because Martha had sounded offended.
Because Penny had joked.
Because there had been another family emergency two days later.
Because accusing your mother of identity theft sounded insane when saying nothing allowed dinner to remain normal.
"I didn't want to blow everything up over something I couldn't prove."
Daniel exhaled through his nose.
"And now?"
"Now everything is already blown up."
He looked exhausted.
Not angry exactly.
Worse.
Disappointed.
"I need you to hear me," he said.
"I do."
"No, you usually hear the part where I'm worried and then translate it into me hating your family."
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
He continued.
"I don't hate them."
A burst of static broke the sentence.
"I hate what happens to you around them."
That landed somewhere deep.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Daniel."
"Because every time they need something, you become seventeen years old."
I looked toward the bassinet.
Hazel was awake now, staring at nothing.
"That's not fair."
"No."
His expression tightened.
"You're right."
He leaned back.
"That wasn't fair."
I appreciated the correction and resented needing it.
We sat in silence for a few seconds.
Then he asked, "Did you tell CPS we'd take Lily?"
"I said I could."
His eyebrows rose.
"Without asking me."
"I knew you'd say yes."
"That is not the point."
"I know."
"Do you?"
My temper flared.
"I am recovering from childbirth while trying to figure out whether my mother stole my identity and my sister dragged an eight-year-old across state lines while lying about loan sharks."
Daniel said nothing.
"I am doing my best."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
My voice cracked.
May you like
"I am here alone."
The instant I said it, I regretted it.
