Chapter 3
I didn't understand what Aunt Evelyn meant until Dad asked her to repeat herself.
"Someone has been applying for credit using Jasmine's personal information," she said.
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
Dad placed the phone on the table.
"Evelyn, tell me exactly what you know."
"I found a letter addressed to Jasmine at my house. It was from a lender, asking for additional documents related to an application."
I stared at the phone.
"Why would they send it to you?"
"Because someone used my address."
Denise suddenly stepped forward.
"That doesn't prove anything!"
Aunt Evelyn went silent.
Then she said, "Denise, I suggest you stop talking."
My stepmother's face tightened.
Dad asked, "Did you submit the application?"
"No!"
"Then why are you so worried?"
"Because your sister has always hated me!"
Dad ignored the accusation.
"Evelyn, can you bring the letter?"
"I'm already driving over."
The call ended.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Dad looked at Jordan.
"Did you know about this?"
Jordan shook his head.
"No."
I studied him carefully.
He looked genuinely confused.
But I had already learned how easily people could lie.
Denise reached for her handbag.
"I'm leaving."
Dad moved toward the door.
"I'm not stopping you from leaving. But you're not taking Jasmine's belongings or financial documents."
She glared at him.
"You can't order me around."
"I'm protecting my daughter."
Denise looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
Pure hatred.
"This is your fault."
I flinched.
Dad stepped between us.
"Enough."
She snatched her handbag and stormed toward the garage.
A minute later, her car engine started.
I watched through the window as she backed out of the driveway.
Part of me wanted her gone forever.
Another part was terrified of what she might do next.
Dad turned to Jordan.
"Where did your mother go?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know."
"Does she have access to Jasmine's personal documents?"
Jordan hesitated.
"I've seen her in your office."
Dad's expression sharpened.
"When?"
"A few times."
"Doing what?"
"Looking through folders."
I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Denise had asked for my Social Security card.
She said she needed it to update our family insurance information.
I had refused because I didn't understand why she needed the original.
She became furious.
Then she apologized and said she'd find another way.
Had she already copied it?
I felt dizzy.
"Dad, she knows my Social Security number."
He turned toward me.
"How?"
"She helped with school paperwork when I was younger."
His face darkened.
Dad immediately called Rebecca Hall, an attorney who had helped his company with several legal matters.
Rebecca advised us to preserve the records, report suspected identity theft, and place security freezes with the credit bureaus.
She also told Dad to avoid accusing anyone publicly until the documents had been reviewed.
But there was one thing she said that stayed with me.
"Jasmine, you're legally an adult. Your financial identity belongs to you. Nobody in your family has the right to use it without authorization."
I had never thought about my identity as something someone could steal.
Money, yes.
Jewelry, maybe.
But my name?
My future?
I looked at the college acceptance letter resting on the coffee table.
The muddy footprint across it suddenly seemed almost symbolic.
Denise hadn't only stepped on a piece of paper.
She had been trying to control what happened next in my life.
Aunt Evelyn arrived forty minutes later.
She was fifty-six, wore her silver-streaked hair in neat braids, and had never been afraid of difficult conversations.
The moment she entered, she hugged me.
"Oh, baby."
I started crying again.
She held me tightly.
"I should have told your father sooner."
Dad approached.
"Evelyn, what exactly have you found?"
She opened a folder.
Inside were copies of two letters.
One was from a lender.
The other was a notice requesting verification of personal information.
Both contained my full name.
Both listed Aunt Evelyn's address.
I stared at the documents.
"I never applied for these."
Aunt Evelyn nodded.
"I know."
The application sought a personal loan of eighteen thousand dollars.
Eighteen thousand.
I felt my legs weaken.
Dad pulled out a chair.
"Sit down, Jasmine."
I obeyed.
Aunt Evelyn continued.
"The lender contacted me because the application listed my address. When I asked Jordan about it, he said Denise had been handling some financial paperwork."
Jordan immediately protested.
"I didn't know it was in Jasmine's name!"
Aunt Evelyn looked at him.
"Then why did you tell me not to mention it to Marcus?"
Jordan went silent.
Dad slowly turned toward him.
"Explain."
Jordan rubbed his forehead.
"Mom said she was arranging money for a business."
"What business?"
"I don't know."
Aunt Evelyn placed another document on the table.
"Denise registered a company four months ago."
Dad frowned.
"She never told me."
"That doesn't surprise me."
I looked at the business registration.
The company was called D&J Lifestyle Solutions.
Denise and Jordan.
The registered mailing address was a small office across town.
I looked at Jordan.
"You're part of it?"
He swallowed.
"Mom said we were going to sell electronics online."
"With my money?"
"I didn't know where the money came from."
Dad leaned forward.
"Then tell us everything you do know."
Jordan sat down.
For the first time that evening, he looked frightened.
"Mom said she needed startup capital. She promised I'd get a salary once the business opened."
"Did she tell you how she was funding it?"
"She said she was using family savings."
I laughed bitterly.
"Mine."
Jordan looked down.
"I'm sorry."
It was the first apology I'd heard from him.
But it didn't make me feel better.
Aunt Evelyn opened another envelope.
"There is something else."
Dad looked exhausted.
"What now?"
She withdrew a copy of an email.
It was addressed to Denise from a business consultant.
The subject line referenced a proposed investment arrangement.
The message discussed using a property as security for financing.
I looked at Dad.
"What property?"
He read the email.
Then his expression changed completely.
"Our house."
My mouth went dry.
Denise wasn't only trying to steal my college savings.
She was preparing to borrow money against the home where I had grown up.
The home my mother had helped my father purchase.
The home that still contained her photographs, her handwritten recipes, and the height marks she'd made on my bedroom door.
Dad read the email again.
Then he looked at Aunt Evelyn.
"How did you get this?"
She hesitated.
"Jordan forwarded it to me."
I turned toward him.
He stared at the floor.
Aunt Evelyn continued.
"He contacted me last week because he was frightened. He said his mother was talking about using money that didn't belong to her."
Dad's eyes narrowed.
"Jordan, why didn't you tell me?"
Jordan's voice cracked.
"Because she said you'd throw us both out."
I stared at him.
For the first time, I saw someone else who had been living under Denise's threats.
But unlike me, Jordan had benefited from them.
And I still didn't know whether he was frightened because he had discovered the truth or because he knew the truth was about to come out.
Then Dad's phone rang.
It was the bank.
He answered immediately.
The representative explained that a document had been submitted requesting verification of his signature on a property-related financial authorization.
Dad listened in silence.
When he ended the call, his face was pale.
"Someone has been trying to use our house as collateral."
Aunt Evelyn closed her eyes.
I whispered, "Denise?"
Dad looked toward the empty driveway.
"I don't know what else she's done."
Then his phone vibrated again.
A text message appeared from an unfamiliar number.
It contained a photograph of Denise standing outside a bank.
Beside her was a man I had never seen.
May you like
Underneath were six words.
"Ask your wife who he is."
