Chương 11
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Ask me something and then act like the answer proves whatever you already think.”
I stared at him.
He was right.
I hated how often people had been right about me lately.
“Okay.”
I folded my arms.
“What happened with the one place?”
“They never called.”
“Where?”
“Electronics store.”
“Did you follow up?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged.
“I figured they didn’t want me.”
“That’s not always how it works.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He gave me a look.
I stopped.
“Sorry.”
He sat again.
Then he said, “Can you help me make a resume?”
The request caught me completely off guard.
“You don’t have one?”
“Not really.”
“What does not really mean?”
“I have a file.”
“Is it a resume?”
“It says resume at the top.”
I laughed.
He smiled reluctantly.
I pulled the folding table away from the wall.
“Show me.”
For the next hour, we worked on it.
It was terrible.
There were three different fonts.
He had listed gaming as “digital team coordination.”
I made him delete that.
He complained.
I made him add the six months he had volunteered at a community center in high school.
He had forgotten about it.
At one point, Carol knocked and brought up another chair.
She looked at the two of us hunched over Jake’s laptop.
“Job application?”
“Resume,” I said.
She nodded at Jake.
“Spell-check.”
“I know.”
“People say that right before misspelling reliable.”
She left.
Jake looked at me.
“I kind of like her.”
“I know.”
By ten, his resume no longer looked like evidence from a hostage situation.
He saved it.
Then he sat back.
“You think Dad’s going to get arrested?”
The question came quietly.
I looked at the screen between us.
“I don’t know.”
“If he apologizes?”
“That doesn’t erase the loan.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He flinched.
I immediately regretted it.
“Sorry.”
He nodded.
We sat there in silence.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was a message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
This is Detective Harris with Financial Crimes.
Please call me tomorrow regarding your report.
Jake watched my face.
“What?”
I turned the phone facedown.
“Nothing we can deal with tonight.”
For once, he did not ask again.
The next morning, Detective Harris called while I was sitting in my truck with the heater running even though it was not cold enough to need it.
I had turned it on without thinking.
He introduced himself in a calm voice and asked whether I had a few minutes before work.
“Yes.”
“I reviewed the report and the documents you submitted.”
I looked through the windshield at the shop doors.
Luis was inside unlocking the tool cabinets.
Harris continued.
“I want to clarify a few things before I contact the lender and dealership.”
“Okay.”
“Did you ever authorize your father to use your personal information for any financial account?”
“No.”
“Did you ever provide him with a copy of your driver’s license?”
“Not recently.”
“What does not recently mean?”
“I lived with my parents.”
“Understood.”
He paused.
“Did he have access to mail addressed to you?”
“Yes.”
“Tax documents?”
“Probably.”
“Bank statements?”
“Maybe old ones.”
“Social Security card?”
I hesitated.
“My mother kept our original documents in a fireproof box.”
“Where?”
“The house.”
“Did you have access to that box?”
“Yes.”
“Did your father?”
“Yes.”
He wrote something down.
I could hear the faint scratch of a pen.
“Do you know whether your father submitted the loan application online or in person?”
“No.”
“We’ll determine that.”
I glanced at the clock.
“I need to ask something.”
“Go ahead.”
“If I tell you I don’t want charges later, can I stop this?”
Harris was quiet for a moment.
“You can tell us you no longer want to cooperate.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
His tone stayed even.
“Once a report is made and evidence supports a criminal offense, the decision to pursue charges does not belong entirely to the reporting person.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“So I can’t undo it.”
“I wouldn’t describe it that way.”
“I would.”
He let the silence sit.
Then he said, “Mr. Reynolds, I’m not trying to push you one direction or another.”
“I know.”
“But you should understand that lenders, dealerships, and insurers may have obligations or interests independent of yours.”
I nodded even though he could not see me.
“What happens next?”
“I’ll request the dealership file, contact the lender’s fraud department, and compare records.”
“Are you going to call my father?”
“Likely.”
“When?”
“I don’t give exact investigative timing.”
“Right.”
“I may need another statement from you.”
“Okay.”
“One more thing.”
His voice changed slightly.
Not dramatic.
Just more careful.
“Do not confront anyone about destroying documents or deleting electronic records.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why are you saying that?”
“Standard instruction in cases involving financial records.”
“Did someone already delete something?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Okay.”
“Go to work.”
That almost made me laugh.
“Is that official police advice?”
“That part is unofficial.”
We ended the call.
I sat there another minute.
Then I went inside.
Luis tossed me a set of keys.
“Delivery van.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Owner says it makes a noise.”
“What kind?”
“He demonstrated it.”
Luis made a terrible grinding sound with his throat.
I stared at him.
“That helpful?”
“Extremely.”
For three hours, I worked on something with a problem I could actually locate.
A worn wheel bearing.
A damaged rotor.
Nothing hidden.
Nothing pretending to be one thing while quietly being another.
At lunch, Jake sent me a screenshot.
Three job applications.
Warehouse associate.
Auto parts cashier.
Campus bookstore.
Underneath, he wrote, Happy now?
I typed, No.
Then deleted it.
I wrote, Good start.
He responded with a thumbs-up.
A minute later, another message arrived.
Mom says Dad didn’t sleep.
I stared at that one longer.
I did not answer.
At four-thirty, Harris called again.
May you like
“I spoke with the dealership.”
My stomach dropped.
