Chapter 6
Diane wasn't arrested at the airport.
Not immediately.
That was the part I didn't understand.
Dad explained it when he returned to the Parkers' house that evening.
“She hadn't passed security yet,” he said. “Officers spoke to her, but the financial investigation is still developing.”
“So they just let her go?”
“For now.”
“Was she trying to leave?”
“She had a ticket to Phoenix.”
“Why Phoenix?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Mr. Parker sat across from us.
He had known Dad for fifteen years and had never liked Diane much, though he had been polite to her.
Now he looked furious.
“Where is she tonight?”
“With her sister, supposedly.”
“Supposedly?”
Dad rubbed his face.
“She gave that address as her current location.”
I leaned forward.
“What happened to Rick?”
“Nobody has found him.”
“And the business account?”
Dad pulled out a folder.
“That's where this gets ugly.”
It was already ugly.
I wasn't sure how it could get worse.
Dad opened the folder.
MB Home Services had been registered seven months earlier.
The listed owner was Maya Bennett.
Me.
The address was ours.
The tax identification paperwork appeared to use my Social Security number.
“What does the business supposedly do?”
“Residential cleaning and repair.”
I almost laughed.
“I don't even know how to fix a toilet.”
Mr. Parker looked at Dad.
“Money laundering?”
Dad shook his head.
“We don't know.”
The words felt enormous.
The account had received deposits from dozens of people.
Some small.
Some as large as six thousand dollars.
The police had told Dad not to speculate.
But I couldn't stop.
“Could Diane have been running an actual business in my name?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“To hide income.”
“From you?”
“From someone.”
Dad's phone rang.
The number belonged to the investigator assigned to the case.
He stepped into the kitchen to answer.
Five minutes later, he returned with a strange expression.
“What?” I asked.
“They want to interview Trey again.”
“Why?”
“One of the deposits into the business account came from a company connected to Rick.”
Mr. Parker swore under his breath.
I asked, “How much?”
“Twenty-two thousand.”
The room went silent.
Dad continued.
“And there were cash withdrawals after almost every major deposit.”
I thought about the suitcase.
The cash inside.
The secret phone.
The fake license.
“Was Diane planning to use me as the person responsible if someone found the account?”
Nobody answered.
They didn't have to.
I was seventeen.
No one would believe I created a home repair company.
Or would they?
With a fake driver's license and my Social Security number, maybe documents existed that made it look possible.
That thought terrified me.
“What happens when I apply for financial aid?”
Dad looked at me.
“We're going to speak with an attorney.”
“I can't afford an attorney.”
“I can.”
“Dad—”
“This is not negotiable.”
The next morning, we met a lawyer named Rachel Monroe.
She specialized in financial fraud and identity theft.
For the first thirty minutes, she simply listened.
Then she said, “Maya, I want you to understand something. The sooner we document that these accounts and applications were fraudulent, the better.”
“Can this destroy my credit?”
“It can create problems, but problems can be disputed.”
“My college?”
“We document everything.”
“What if the IRS thinks the business income is mine?”
“Then we respond with the police reports and identity theft documentation.”
My head spun.
I had been worried about essays and SAT scores a week earlier.
Now someone was explaining how to prove to the government that I hadn't secretly earned eighty thousand dollars through a fake company.
Rachel looked at Dad.
“Mr. Bennett, have you filed for separation?”
Dad went quiet.
“No.”
“You should seriously consider taking immediate legal steps to protect your assets.”
“I know.”
“Do you have joint credit cards?”
“Yes.”
“Joint checking?”
“Yes.”
“Property?”
“The house is in my name. I bought it before the marriage.”
“Any beneficiary designations naming your wife?”
Dad's face changed.
“My life insurance.”
Rachel wrote something down.
“Review it today.”
My stomach twisted.
Dad saw my expression.
“It's normal.”
Rachel nodded.
“I'm not suggesting anything sinister. I'm telling you to review every financial relationship because unauthorized access has already been established as a concern.”
Still, once she said life insurance, I couldn't unhear it.
After the meeting, Dad drove home with me.
The house felt different.
Diane's coffee mug was still by the sink.
Her shoes were still near the front door.
A cardigan hung over the dining chair.
Normal things.
Evidence of an ordinary marriage.
Except nothing was ordinary anymore.
Dad went to his office.
I went upstairs.
My bedroom door was open.
I stopped.
I was certain I had closed it.
“Dad?”
He came running.
“What?”
“My door.”
He immediately pulled me back.
“Stay here.”
He checked the room.
Nobody inside.
Nothing obviously disturbed.
Then I noticed my laptop charger was gone.
Not the laptop.
Just the charger.
A drawer was open.
My school folder had been moved.
Dad checked the windows.
Locked.
Then downstairs.
The back door was locked too.
“Could Diane still have a key?”
I asked.
“Yes.”
He changed the locks that afternoon.
Then I received an email from my school counselor.
Maya, please come see me tomorrow regarding a transcript request submitted today.
I showed Dad.
“I didn't request a transcript.”
He called the school.
The counselor confirmed someone using my name and email information had requested an official transcript be sent to a community college in Arizona.
Arizona.
Diane had booked a flight to Phoenix.
I felt sick.
“Why would she send my transcript?”
Dad asked the counselor not to release anything.
Then we contacted the investigator.
By evening, another piece surfaced.
An online application had been created at a college near Phoenix.
My name.
My date of birth.
My school records.
A different email address.
Dad stared at the screen.
“She was building another version of your life.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don't know.”
Then Rachel called.
She had reviewed some of the business registration documents Dad obtained.
Her tone was sharp.
“Maya, is your middle name Elise?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever sign your name M.E. Bennett?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything on March 12?”
“I don't know. Probably school stuff.”
“Did you sign a business registration?”
“No.”
“Then someone forged your signature.”
She sent us a copy.
Maya Elise Bennett.
It looked surprisingly close to my handwriting.
Not perfect.
But close enough to scare me.
Then I remembered something.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Diane had me sign papers in March.”
His face hardened.
“What papers?”
“She said they were for the school emergency contact forms.”
“Did you read them?”
“No.”
I felt stupid immediately.
Rachel interrupted.
“You were sixteen. Don't blame yourself.”
“What did the pages look like?” Dad asked.
“I don't remember.”
“Think.”
“White paper. Little yellow tabs showing where to sign.”
Rachel asked, “Did you sign multiple places?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Maybe five.”
Dad stood so fast his chair scraped the floor.
“She tricked her into giving signature samples.”
Rachel was careful.
“Possibly.”
I remembered Diane standing over me at the kitchen counter.
Hurry, Maya. I need to get these mailed.
I had been doing homework.
I signed where she pointed.
I never looked.
Dad whispered, “I was right there.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“I remember that night.”
He stared at the table.
“I asked what the forms were.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“Summer program paperwork.”
Neither of us spoke.
She had lied in front of both of us.
Then someone knocked at the front door.
Dad froze.
He checked the camera.
Trey.
Dad opened the door but didn't let him inside.
“What do you want?”
Trey looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Red eyes.
“I need to talk to Maya.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I walked into the hall.
“About what?”
He looked past Dad at me.
“I know why Mom opened that account.”
Dad's shoulders stiffened.
“Talk.”
Trey glanced toward the driveway as if he expected someone to appear.
Then he stepped closer.
“Rick wasn't running a cleaning company.”
“What was he doing?”
Trey lowered his voice.
“He was collecting deposits for home renovation jobs.”
“So?”
“He wasn't doing the jobs.”
My stomach dropped.
“He was taking people's money?”
Trey nodded.
“Some of them.”
Dad stared at him.
“And the business was registered to Maya.”
“Yes.”
I whispered, “So if customers complained…”
Trey looked at me.
“On paper, they weren't paying Rick.”
“They were paying me.”
He nodded.
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Dad grabbed the doorframe.
“How long have you known?”
“I found out last week.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I was scared.”
“You were scared?”
Dad's anger exploded.
“My seventeen-year-old daughter was being set up to take responsibility for fraud!”
“I didn't know how far it went!”
“You knew enough!”
Trey shouted back, “I was trying to get Mom to stop!”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“When?”
“After Rick said they needed one more big job.”
I stepped forward.
“What big job?”
Trey looked at me.
“An elderly couple.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
My stomach twisted.
“Did they pay?”
“I don't know.”
Dad asked, “Who are they?”
Trey shook his head.
“I don't know their names.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Rick sent me a message.”
He pulled out his phone.
The text read:
Your mom screwed everything up. Tell her I want the girl to fix this before I do.
Dad read it twice.
Then he looked at Trey.
“When did you get this?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Dad reached for his phone.
Before he could call the police, a loud crash came from the back of the house.
We all froze.
Another crash.
Glass breaking.
Dad shoved me behind him.
May you like
“Trey, call 911.”
Then smoke started pouring from the kitchen.
