Chương 13
“I know what you’ve told me.”
“Rachel.”
“I’m not doubting you.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying this just became a document-authentication problem, not a family argument.”
I stared at the empty street below my window.
“Can you tell if it’s fake?”
“Not from screenshots.”
“So what do we do?”
“We preserve your accounts, pull server logs, and compare the metadata against the lender’s records.”
I swallowed.
“And if he fabricated the thread?”
“Then we document that.”
“And if someone accessed my real account?”
“Then we document that too.”
My coffee had already gone cold.
For the first time since the wedding, fear moved ahead of anger.
Not fear of Dad shouting.
Not fear of Madison crying.
Fear of not knowing how far he had gone.
Rachel said, “Do not contact him.”
“I won’t.”
“Come straight here.”
I ended the call, got dressed without finishing the coffee, and packed my laptop, phone charger, original loan folder, and the clinic discharge papers into a canvas tote.
Before leaving, I stood for a moment beside the kitchen counter where Dad had sat five weeks earlier borrowing my charger.
Then I unplugged that same charger from the wall, put it in my bag, locked the apartment behind me, and went to find out exactly how much of my life he had used without asking.
Rachel’s office occupied the ninth floor of a converted warehouse where every conference room had glass walls and names like Harbor and Summit.
I had always hated the names.
That morning, Harbor was already full when I arrived.
Rachel sat at one end of the table beside a man I had never met.
He was in his forties, wore a charcoal sweater instead of a suit, and had three laptops open in front of him.
“This is Daniel Park,” Rachel said.
“He handles digital forensics for us.”
Daniel stood and shook my hand carefully, noticing the way I favored my shoulder.
“Sorry you’re meeting me under these circumstances.”
“Seems to be the theme of the weekend.”
He gave a small nod, not quite a smile.
Rachel pointed toward the chair beside her.
“Put everything on the table.”
I set down my laptop, phone, charger, and the original loan folder.
Daniel did not touch any of it immediately.
He asked me when I had first learned about the disputed documents.
I told him.
Then he asked when I last changed passwords, whether I used password managers, whether my accounts had multifactor authentication, and whether anyone in my family had ever had regular access to my devices.
“No.”
I hesitated.
“My dad borrowed my laptop charger.”
Daniel looked up.
“When?”
“Five weeks ago.”
“Did he use the laptop?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
I pictured Dad at my kitchen counter.
Coffee.
Traffic complaints.
His phone plugged into my charger.
My laptop closed beside the fruit bowl.
“I think so.”
Daniel nodded.
“Thinking so is fine.”
That annoyed me.
“I would have noticed.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at Rachel.
She said, “He’s not accusing you of being careless.”
Daniel said, “Everybody is careless.”
“Comforting.”
“It should be.”
He opened a notebook.
“Perfect security is a marketing phrase.”
Rachel glanced at me.
“You two are going to get along.”
Daniel asked whether Dad had ever known my email password.
“No.”
“Could he answer security questions?”
“Probably.”
“Mother’s maiden name?”
“Yes.”
“First school?”
“Yes.”
“Pet names?”
“We didn’t have pets.”
“That helps.”
I almost laughed.
Daniel asked me to unlock my laptop.
He connected an external device and began creating a forensic copy.
The phrase sounded dramatic.
The process looked like watching a progress bar move slowly across a screen.
Rachel slid a coffee toward me.
“Drink.”
“I already had some.”
“You had half a cup at five in the morning.”
I looked at her.
“How do you know that?”
“You told me.”
“I don’t remember telling you.”
“You were speaking very quickly.”
I took the coffee.
Daniel said, without looking up, “Sleep deprivation is excellent for memory.”
Rachel said, “Ignore him.”
“I was planning to.”
For twenty minutes, nothing happened.
That was the part nobody included in stories about fraud.
No revelations.
No dramatic phone calls.
Just three adults waiting for a computer to finish copying another computer.
I picked at a loose thread on the cuff of my blouse.
Rachel answered emails.
Daniel ate almonds from a plastic container.
At one point, he offered me some.
“No, thanks.”
“They’re unsalted.”
“That made them less appealing.”
“Correct.”
The progress bar reached sixty-eight percent.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Mom.
I looked at Rachel.
“Can I answer?”
“Is she likely to discuss the documents?”
“Yes.”
“Speaker.”
I answered.
“Hi.”
Mom sounded strange.
Not frightened exactly.
Flat.
“Your father came home.”
I sat straighter.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Is Madison with you?”
“No.”
“Is he asking you to sign anything?”
“No.”
Rachel made a small motion with her hand.
I understood.
Keep it simple.
Mom said, “He’s packing.”
“Packing what?”
“Clothes.”
I looked at Rachel.
She wrote on a legal pad.
DO NOT GO THERE.
I frowned at her.
She underlined it.
“Did he say where he’s going?”
“No.”
“Mom, don’t stop him.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Her voice sharpened.
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“Well, neither do I.”
We both went quiet.
Then Mom said, “There’s something else.”
Rachel sat closer.
“What?”
“I found a box.”
“What kind of box?”
“In his office closet.”
My stomach tightened.
“Mom.”
“I wasn’t snooping.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
I said, “I don’t care if you were.”
“I went in to get the insurance folder.”
“What’s in the box?”
“Mail.”
“That’s it?”
“Mail with your name on it.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Rachel reached for a pen.
“What kind of mail?”
“Bank statements.”
My mouth went dry.
“From where?”
“I don’t recognize the bank.”
Rachel mouthed, name.
“What bank, Mom?”
May you like
She read it.
Daniel looked up instantly.
