Chapter 6 - The HouseThe next morning, I went back to my parents' house.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I needed answers.
Mom opened the door.
Her face was swollen from crying.
"Rachel."
"Where's Dad?"
"In his office."
I walked past her.
The hallway looked exactly as it had when I was a kid.
Family photos.
Graduation pictures.
Christmas cards.
And one picture of the four of us from twenty years ago.
Eric had his arm around me.
Dad stood behind us.
Mom was smiling.
I stopped.
For years, I'd looked at that picture and seen family.
Now I saw a group of strangers wearing familiar faces.
Dad was sitting behind his desk.
He looked exhausted.
"I owe you the truth."
"You owe me several truths."
He nodded.
"I know."
I sat across from him.
"Start with the company."
He rubbed his hands.
"After my business collapsed, Eric convinced me to create another company."
"When?"
"About four years ago."
"Before I started paying the mortgage."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To preserve some contracts."
I stared at him.
"What contracts?"
Dad remained silent.
Then he said, "The company was already in debt."
"How much?"
"More than $900,000."
My stomach dropped.
"Almost a million?"
"Yes."
"And you hid this from me."
"We thought we could recover."
"Using my identity?"
"I never authorized that."
"Maybe not."
I placed the forged documents on his desk.
"But you knew Eric was using my name."
Dad looked down.
"I knew he was using documents."
"That's not an answer."
He sighed.
"I didn't know the extent."
I leaned forward.
"Who else knew?"
His silence was too long.
"Mom?"
Dad nodded.
"Eric?"
Another nod.
"Derek?"
Dad hesitated.
Then he said, "Derek helped."
I felt sick.
Of course he did.
The dinner table suddenly made sense.
The jokes.
The contempt.
They weren't random.
They had been living in a world where I was the fool who financed them.
I stood.
"Take me to the basement."
Dad looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because there's something I need to see."
"There isn't."
"Dad."
I held up the documents.
"Your company kept records."
He stared at me.
Then looked away.
That was enough.
We went downstairs.
The basement smelled like dust and old cardboard.
Dad unlocked a storage room.
Inside were boxes.
Tax files.
Contracts.
Bank statements.
Company records.
And a black metal filing cabinet.
Dad stopped.
"That's where Eric kept private documents."
"Open it."
"I don't have the key."
"Then break it."
Dad stared at me.
I grabbed a screwdriver.
The lock gave way after two minutes.
Inside were folders.
Dozens.
I pulled one out.
My name.
Another.
My name.
Another.
My name again.
Loan applications.
Credit records.
Insurance forms.
Property documents.
Bank statements.
Copies of my driver's license.
My passport.
My Social Security card.
Everything.
My entire identity had been organized into a filing system.
Then I noticed one folder marked differently.
A handwritten label.
Rachel - Final Transfer.
I opened it.
Inside was a deed.
A property transfer.
Not my parents' house.
A commercial property worth nearly $2 million.
At the bottom was my forged signature.
But the date was next month.
I stared at the page.
"This hasn't happened yet."
Dad came closer.
"What?"
I pointed at the date.
"Someone is planning to transfer a property into my name."
Dad read it.
His face drained of color.
Then, from upstairs, we heard the front door slam.
Eric's voice echoed through the house.
"Mom?"
May you like
Dad whispered:
"He's here."
