Chương 12
“Okay.”
“The transaction was completed in person.”
“With who?”
“I’m still gathering statements.”
“That means Dad.”
“It means I’m gathering statements.”
I leaned against my toolbox.
“Was I supposedly there?”
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What?”
“The dealership records indicate the primary borrower was present.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I understand.”
“Do they have cameras?”
“They retain video for a limited period.”
“And?”
“The purchase was eleven months ago.”
“So it’s gone.”
“Likely.”
I closed my eyes.
“How did they verify identity?”
“That’s part of what I’m reviewing.”
“Did someone pretend to be me?”
“I can’t answer that yet.”
“Jake was there.”
“We know.”
“You talked to him?”
“Not yet.”
“Then how do you know?”
“The documents list him as an additional authorized driver.”
That detail somehow made everything feel more elaborate.
Not one forged signature.
A whole transaction.
“I need to talk to my brother.”
“You can.”
“Can I tell him you called?”
“Yes.”
“Can I tell him what you said?”
“You can tell him anything I told you.”
“Okay.”
Harris paused.
“I’d prefer to speak with him directly before he hears anyone else’s version of the dealership visit.”
I knew exactly who anyone else meant.
“My dad.”
“I didn’t specify.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He gave me a number for Jake to call.
I sent it immediately.
Jake called me five minutes later.
“What is this?”
“Detective.”
“You gave him my number?”
“No.”
“You just sent me his.”
“Oh.”
His voice changed.
“What does he want?”
“To ask about the dealership.”
Jake went quiet.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
The question startled me.
“I don’t know.”
“You filed the report.”
“That doesn’t make me a lawyer.”
“Well, you seem to know everything else lately.”
“Jake.”
“Sorry.”
He sounded tired.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“I don’t know what you signed.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s why he wants to talk.”
There was silence.
Then Jake said, “Dad called me this morning.”
My shoulders tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He asked if I remembered you being at the dealership.”
I went still.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you weren’t.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I might be remembering wrong.”
I closed my eyes.
“Jake.”
“I know.”
“No, listen to me.”
My voice came out harsher than I intended.
“If a detective asks you what happened, tell him what you actually remember.”
“What if I don’t remember everything?”
“Say that.”
“What if Dad gets in trouble because of what I say?”
“That is not your job to control.”
“Easy for you.”
“No.”
I looked across the shop.
“It isn’t.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “Dad told me you were there.”
“What?”
“This morning.”
My stomach tightened.
“He said you came late and signed papers in the finance office.”
“That never happened.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Mike, I was there all afternoon.”
His voice sharpened.
“You were not there.”
I sat down on the edge of my workbench.
“Tell Harris that.”
Jake called the detective.
I did not hear from him again until almost seven.
By then, I was home trying to cook chicken in a skillet that was slightly too small.
The smoke detector went off.
Carol shouted from downstairs, “That better not be gasoline.”
“It’s chicken.”
“That’s worse.”
I opened a window.
My phone rang.
Jake.
I answered while waving a dish towel under the smoke detector.
“How’d it go?”
“He asked a million questions.”
“Like what?”
“Who was there.”
“And?”
“Me, Dad, salesman, finance guy.”
“No one pretending to be me?”
Jake hesitated.
“No.”
That made me stop waving the towel.
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean nobody acted like they were you.”
“But the paperwork says I was there.”
“I know.”
“Did you see Dad sign anything for me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“There were papers everywhere.”
I turned off the burner.
“What did Harris say?”
“Not much.”
“That’s his thing.”
Jake gave a tired laugh.
Then his voice dropped.
“Mike, I remembered something.”
“What?”
“At one point the finance guy asked where you were.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“What did Dad say?”
“He said you were outside on a work call.”
I stared at the chicken.
The pan hissed quietly.
“Were you outside at any point?”
“No.”
“Did anyone come inside later?”
“No.”
“Did the finance guy ask again?”
“I think so.”
“And?”
“Dad said you’d already signed the application electronically.”
I sat down.
There were two incompatible stories now.
The records said I had been present.
Dad had apparently told someone I was outside.
Then that I had signed electronically.
“What did Harris say when you told him?”
“He asked me to repeat it.”
“That’s all?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did you tell Dad you talked to him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Jake went silent.
“Mom wants me home.”
“You are home.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“She says Dad needs support.”
I looked at the pan.
The chicken was probably ruined.
“Do what you think you should do.”
“That’s not advice.”
“It’s the best I’ve got.”
Jake sighed.
“I hate this.”
“Me too.”
Before we hung up, he said, “I applied at two more places.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Good.”
The next two days were quiet in a way that felt manufactured.
Dad did not call.
Mom sent one message asking whether I was eating.
I wrote yes.
She responded with a heart.
I stared at it longer than I should have.
On Friday morning, the lender called.
A fraud investigator named Megan introduced herself and said they had received the police report.
“We’ve reviewed the application and associated authentication records.”
I sat upright.
“What does that mean?”
“The loan application originated online.”
I frowned.
“But the dealership told police I was present.”
“The financing application was submitted online before the dealership visit.”
“From where?”
“I can’t provide a physical location, but I can tell you the application used an email address associated with you.”
My stomach tightened.
May you like
“Which email?”
She read it.
