Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WITH MY NAME
Someone had been using my identity
I spent the next three hours in my attorney's office.
The filing sat between us.
The borrower name was mine.
Isabella Marie Hail.
Same middle name.
Same spelling.
Same address listed on one of my old tax documents.
Same date of birth.
My attorney looked exhausted.
“This is not amateur paperwork.”
“What does that mean?”
“The person who did this had access to your records.”
“My parents.”
“Possibly.”
“Marcus.”
“Possibly.”
“Someone else?”
She nodded.
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
She pushed a folder toward me.
Inside were copies of my driver's license.
Old tax returns.
Property records.
Bank correspondence.
A copy of an old passport.
My skin prickled.
“Where did these come from?”
“Credit reporting records.”
I looked closer.
Someone had run identity checks using my information.
Two months earlier.
Then again six weeks later.
Then four weeks later.
Then eleven days ago.
All before the renovation.
“This was planned.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Probably months.”
I leaned back.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
We need to talk without lawyers.
I ignored it.
Another message.
Jennifer didn't know.
Then:
Please don't punish her.
I stared at the screen.
So there was a crack.
Something had happened between them.
My attorney noticed my expression.
“What's wrong?”
“Marcus says Jennifer didn't know.”
“That may be true.”
“Does it matter?”
“It could.”
“How?”
“Because if she was induced into signing something, her statement could become evidence.”
I looked at the documents.
“How do I stop them?”
“We already froze the obvious paths.”
“The lender?”
“Contacted.”
“The contractor?”
“Job stopped.”
“The permit?”
“Under review.”
“The forged POA?”
“We've notified the recorder.”
“And my father?”
“We haven't confronted him formally yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because once we do, he may start destroying evidence.”
I looked at her.
“Do you think he will?”
She met my eyes.
“I think you should assume everyone involved is capable of protecting themselves.”
That sentence stayed with me.
That evening, I drove to the lake house.
The property looked wounded.
The sunroom was still exposed.
I stood in the center of what used to be my favorite room.
Rain had started.
Water dripped through the temporary tarp.
I remembered the first night I had slept there.
I had been twenty-three.
I had just gotten the promotion everyone in my family had insisted I'd never earn.
I bought the house with my bonus, savings, and stock payout.
My father had laughed.
“You'll regret tying that much money up in a vacation property.”
My mother had said,
“Marcus should have a chance to enjoy it too.”
Even then.
Always Marcus.
I sat on the floor.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered,
“Don't trust your father.”
I sat up.
“Who is this?”
“You don't know me.”
“How did you get my number?”
“I used to work at the law office that handled your father's business.”
My heart accelerated.
“What business?”
“I saw your name.”
“Where?”
“In documents your father asked us to prepare.”
“What documents?”
Silence.
Then:
“The transfer.”
“What transfer?”
“You need to check the blue packet.”
I froze.
“Who are you?”
“They're planning to sell the lake house.”
The line went dead.
I called back.
Disconnected.
I sat there listening to the rain.
Sell the house.
That couldn't be right.
Could it?
I walked upstairs to the bedroom.
The safe was hidden behind a framed photograph.
I opened it.
Inside was the blue packet.
I pulled it out.
The cover was faded.
My grandmother had written my name across it.
ISABELLA.
I had seen it before.
I had ignored it.
Now I opened the first page.
At the top was a title.
Family Asset Preservation Agreement.
Underneath were three names.
My grandmother.
My father.
And me.
I turned the page.
My pulse stopped.
Because the document wasn't about the bungalow.
It wasn't even about the lake house.
It was about something much larger.
A property portfolio.
A trust.
And a clause that made my father legally dependent on one thing.
My ownership.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I whispered,
“Oh, Dad.”
May you like
Because suddenly I understood why he'd spent my entire life telling me that everything I had was temporary.
He didn't want me to know how much power I actually had.
