Chapter 6
For the entire drive back to my parents’ house, nobody asked again.
That almost made it worse.
Dad drove.
Detective Brooks followed.
Uncle Raymond sat in the passenger seat.
I sat alone in the back.
Chicago.
The word filled the car.
Jordan had planned that.
He knew exactly which secret would make me panic.
I watched trees blur past the window.
Finally, Dad spoke.
“You don’t have to tell me in the car.”
I looked up.
“But you want to know.”
“Yes.”
His answer was quiet.
“But I’m not going to corner you.”
A tear slipped down my face.
Three days ago, he had thrown me out before hearing a single explanation.
Now he was forcing himself to wait.
That mattered.
“I’ll tell you when we get home.”
He nodded.
Mom was waiting by the front door.
She ran toward me.
“Did you find something?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him?”
I nodded.
Her face changed.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
She hugged me anyway.
Grandma watched from inside.
She seemed to understand immediately.
“There is more.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
We gathered in the living room.
I sat in the same place where I had told them about Jordan the first night.
Dad sat across from me this time.
Not standing.
Not pacing.
Just listening.
“Chicago happened last January.”
I rubbed my palms against my shorts.
“Jordan told me we were going for a weekend.”
Mom frowned.
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to meet one of his cousins.”
The lie sounded obvious now.
But at the time, I trusted him.
“We stayed at a hotel downtown.”
Dad asked, “What happened?”
“The first night, Jordan took me to a restaurant.”
I paused.
“There was a man there.”
“Who?”
“His name was Victor Shaw.”
Raymond looked up sharply.
“You know him?” Dad asked.
“I know the name.”
Raymond reached for his laptop.
“Financial crimes. Real estate scams. He was investigated a few years ago.”
My stomach dropped.
I continued.
“Jordan introduced Victor as an investor.”
“Investor in what?” Mom asked.
“I didn’t know.”
After dinner, Victor asked me questions.
Where I went to school.
Whether I received scholarships.
Whether my parents owned their home.
What Dad did for work.
I thought it was small talk.
“It wasn’t,” I whispered.
Dad’s face hardened.
“What happened after dinner?”
“We went back to the hotel.”
I closed my eyes.
“Jordan gave me paperwork.”
“What kind?”
“He said it was for a student business grant.”
Raymond leaned forward.
“Did you sign it?”
Tears came instantly.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
“I signed everything.”
Dad shook his head.
“Maya—”
“I didn’t read it.”
My voice broke.
“I trusted him.”
Dad moved toward me.
I raised my hand.
“Please. Let me finish.”
He stopped.
“Jordan took pictures of my driver’s license.”
My chest tightened.
“Then Victor came to the hotel.”
Mom whispered, “Why?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
I looked down.
“They were arguing.”
About money.
About accounts.
About “clean names.”
That phrase had stayed with me.
“I heard Victor say they needed more student profiles.”
Raymond cursed.
Dad looked sick.
“I opened the hotel room door.”
My breathing grew faster.
“Jordan saw me.”
“What did he do?” Dad asked.
“He smiled.”
That was the part I remembered most.
Not anger.
Not panic.
A smile.
“He told Victor I worried too much.”
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Then he brought me back inside.”
The room blurred.
“He told me I misunderstood.”
“Did he hurt you?” Mom asked.
“Yes.”
Dad looked away.
“He grabbed my face.”
I touched my jaw unconsciously.
“He told me if I ever repeated what I heard, he would say I was involved.”
Dad’s eyes returned to me.
“Involved how?”
“He had photographs of me signing the documents.”
Raymond understood first.
“He wanted leverage.”
I nodded.
“He told me those papers connected me to everything.”
Mom shook her head.
“You didn’t know.”
“He said nobody would believe that.”
Dad moved to the edge of his chair.
“And you believed him.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“I still don’t know what I signed.”
Raymond opened his laptop.
“Maybe the drive tells us.”
He searched my name.
Then Chicago.
Several files appeared.
My stomach turned.
One was a scanned document.
Raymond opened it.
Dad stood beside him.
“What is that?”
Raymond read silently.
Then looked at me.
“It’s not a grant application.”
“I know.”
“It’s paperwork creating an LLC.”
Dad stared.
“In her name?”
“Yes.”
My throat closed.
“What does that mean?”
Raymond kept reading.
“It means somebody created a company using Maya’s identity.”
“How bad?” Mom asked.
Raymond did not answer immediately.
“How bad?”
He looked at me.
“There are bank accounts attached.”
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
He opened another spreadsheet.
His face changed.
Dad noticed.
“What?”
Raymond turned the screen.
Rows of transactions.
Thousands of dollars.
Tens of thousands.
More.
My name appeared at the top.
Total transfers: $312,480.
I stopped breathing.
Mom sank into a chair.
Dad whispered, “Three hundred thousand?”
“I never had that money.”
“We know,” Mom said immediately.
I started crying.
“I swear.”
Dad crossed the room.
He knelt in front of me.
“I know.”
“But those documents—”
“I know.”
“Jordan said—”
“I don’t care what Jordan said.”
Dad took my hands.
“You were manipulated.”
“What if the police think I helped?”
“Then we tell the truth.”
“What if they don’t believe me?”
Dad’s voice became firm.
“I believe you.”
Something inside me broke open.
I leaned forward.
Dad held me.
“You hear me?”
I nodded against his shoulder.
“I believe you.”
Later that evening, Detective Brooks returned with two federal investigators.
The case was growing.
They asked about Chicago.
I told them everything.
One investigator, Agent Thomas Greene, examined the files.
“You may technically be listed as an owner,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
“But these records strongly indicate identity fraud.”
I exhaled shakily.
“Am I in trouble?”
“At this point, we see you as a victim and witness.”
My knees weakened with relief.
Dad squeezed my shoulder.
Then Agent Greene opened another file.
“What?” Dad asked.
Greene frowned.
“This company connected to Maya is not the only one.”
He turned the laptop.
There were eleven companies.
Each registered to a different student.
Nicole was one.
Brianna was another.
My blood went cold.
“Brianna had a company too?”
“Yes.”
He clicked.
Her company had transferred money to an account controlled by Victor Shaw.
Two days before she disappeared.
Dad leaned forward.
“Can this prove what happened to her?”
“Not yet.”
Then Detective Brooks’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her expression changed.
“Where?”
Everyone watched her.
She ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“They processed the memory card from Professor Home.”
My heart pounded.
“And?”
“There’s video.”
Dad stood.
“Of what?”
Detective Brooks swallowed.
“Brianna recorded a meeting.”
“Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“And Dr. Reed.”
I gripped the couch.
“What were they saying?”
Detective Brooks looked toward Agent Greene.
Then back at us.
“They were arguing about the fraud.”
My pulse raced.
“And at the end of the recording, Jordan tells Brianna to meet him somewhere the following night.”
“Where?”
“The old lake house owned by Dr. Reed.”
The room went silent.
May you like
Detective Brooks continued.
“That meeting was scheduled for the night Brianna disappeared.”
