Chapter 7: The Man Who Helped Destroy My Credit

“Your mother told me you had authorized it,” Richard said through the phone.

“She said you were dealing with a complicated mortgage application and needed the documents sent directly to a financial adviser.””

I gripped the edge of the dining table.

“Richard, I never authorized anyone to access my employment records for a loan.””

“I understand that now.””

“Do you? Because my credit score has dropped almost three hundred points, and someone is trying to borrow another seventy-five thousand dollars in my name.””

Silence.

Then Richard said, “Sarah, I think you need to come in Monday morning. There are records you should see.””

“What records?””

“Emails. Requests. A couple of documents that don't look right.””

I glanced at my father.

“Were these requests made by my mother?””

“Some were. Others came from an outside address.””

“Whose?””

“I can't tell you everything over the phone.””

My anger rose so quickly that I had to take a breath before answering.

“You approved requests involving my private information. You can tell me who received it.””

“I made a mistake.””

“That mistake might cost me my house.””

“I know.””

“No, Richard. You don't.””

I ended the call.

My father stood beside me, his face pale.

“Your boss gave your information to your mother?””

“Apparently.””

Mom had begun shaking her head.

“I only asked him to verify your salary. I didn't tell him to give anyone your records.””

I turned toward her.

“You called my employer to help somebody borrow money using my identity. What exactly did you think would happen?””

“I thought it was just a verification!””

“Then why did you tell him I had authorized it?””

She looked at the floor.

Jessica sat motionless, watching us.

I opened the fraudulent application again. The lender had listed my salary accurately, including the annual bonus I had received the previous year. That information wasn't public. Neither was the department I worked in.

Someone had been digging through my professional life.

Dad pulled out his chair.

“Sarah, what do you want to do?””

“First, I'm contacting the lender and reporting this application as fraudulent. Then I'm going to speak with HR and an attorney.””

Mom reached across the table.

“Please don't involve your workplace. You'll lose your job.””

I stared at her.

“I'm supposed to protect the people who helped steal my identity because you think I might lose my job?””

“No, sweetheart. That's not what I meant.””

“Then what did you mean?””

She had no answer.

I called the lender's fraud department while Dad made copies of the documents. The representative confirmed that the application had not been approved, but it had passed the initial identity-verification stage.

I asked them to freeze the application and preserve every supporting record.

When I finished, I sent an email to my company's HR director explaining that my employment information appeared to have been used in a fraudulent loan application.

I attached the document.

Then I called the credit bureaus to dispute the fraudulent accounts and placed fraud alerts on my credit files.

Every task felt like trying to stop a flood with a stack of paper towels.

But I kept going.

For once, I wasn't going to let my family decide which problems were important enough to address.

At eleven that night, Dad drove me home.

Neither of us spoke much during the trip.

When we reached my apartment, he sat in the driver's seat with both hands resting on the steering wheel.

“I don't know how to fix this,” he admitted.

“Neither do I.””

“I thought your mother was helping Jessica with some bills. I never imagined…”

He couldn't finish.

I reached over and squeezed his hand.

“Dad, you didn't do this.””

“But I let it happen in my own house.””

I looked at the dark windows of my apartment building.

“You can't undo what happened. You can help me make sure it doesn't happen again.””

He nodded.

Before I got out, he promised to send me every bank statement he could find.

Then he added, “And Sarah? Don't let your mother talk you into keeping quiet.””

“I won't.””

I slept for barely three hours.

At 7:12 Sunday morning, an email arrived from the HR director.

She had reviewed my report and requested that I attend a meeting Monday with her, Richard, and a representative from the company's compliance department.

The email included a warning not to contact other employees about the investigation.

I read it twice.

Then another message arrived from an unfamiliar address.

*Subject: You need to know what your mother promised.*

The email contained no greeting.

Only three sentences.

Your mother didn't just ask Richard to verify your salary. She promised him a share of the money if the loan went through.

My hands went cold.

Below the message was an attachment containing a screenshot of an email conversation.

I opened it.

The first message was from my mother.

Richard, once the loan is approved, we'll make sure everyone gets what they're owed. Sarah doesn't need to know about the arrangement until everything is settled.

Richard's reply was shorter.

I expect the amount we discussed to be transferred before the end of the month.

I stared at the screen.

There was no mention of my consent.

No suggestion that the loan was legitimate.

Just money.

Someone had apparently agreed to help my mother exploit my identity in exchange for a payment.

I forwarded the email to HR and saved a copy for the police.

Then I called Dad.

He answered on the second ring.

“Sarah?””

“I found something else.””

I explained the email.

When I finished, he was silent for so long that I checked whether the call had disconnected.

Finally, he said, “There's something I haven't told you.””

My stomach tightened.

“What?””

“Last night, after you left, your mother admitted that Michael had visited our house twice before the loan application.””

“And?””

“He didn't come alone.””

I sat down on the edge of my bed.

“Who was with him?””

Dad took a shaky breath.

“Richard Collins.””

My boss.

The man who had approved access to my employment records.

The man whose name appeared in an email discussing money.

I stared at the wall.

“Why would Richard visit your house?””

Dad's voice broke.

“Because your mother told him you had agreed to help finance Michael's business.””

I closed my eyes.

My family had turned my identity into a financial instrument, and my own manager had apparently helped them do it.

But Dad wasn't finished.

“Sarah, there's one more thing. Your mother says Richard wasn't the person who first suggested using your name.””

“Who was?””

Dad whispered the answer.

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“Your uncle Michael.””

Then he added, “And according to your mother, Michael has done this before.””