Chapter 4 - Someone Used My Name
Mom’s face emptied.
Jason’s recording kept playing.
Her voice:
“Once probate is filed, Hannah becomes the problem.”
Then Chloe:
“What if she comes home?”
Mom:
“Then we make sure she looks like she came home for money.”
The file ended.
I stared at my mother.
Aunt Melissa whispered, “Linda.”
Mom snapped.
“It is taken out of context.”
I stepped closer.
“Then give me context.”
“Thomas was terminal.”
“You said he would be gone before the audit mattered.”
“He was dying.”
“And I was going to be the problem.”
“You always were.”
The words came out before she could catch them.
Everyone heard.
Something in me went quiet.
Not numb.
Clear.
Robert said, “We need to preserve that recording.”
Jason nodded.
“I have backups.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Mom looked at him.
Pure hatred.
“You stupid little parasite.”
Jason laughed.
“You paid me.”
My stomach turned.
“How much?”
He looked at me.
“Not all of Cedar Ridge was mine.”
“How much?”
“Forty thousand.”
I looked at the $418,000 total.
“Where did the rest go?”
He swallowed.
“Chloe.”
Chloe shouted, “That is not true.”
Jason opened bank records.
Transfers.
Cedar Ridge to a brokerage account.
Beneficiary:
CHLOE BROOKS.
Chloe backed into the wall.
Mom closed her eyes.
Robert said, “Hannah, I want you to sit down.”
“No.”
“There’s more.”
“Then show me standing.”
He opened the audit.
Transactions using my name.
Electronic authorizations.
Copies of my driver’s license.
My social security card.
A scanned signature from an employment contract.
I touched the screen.
“Where did they get these?”
Jason whispered, “Your laptop.”
I turned.
He looked sick.
“Which laptop?”
“The old MacBook.”
I laughed.
Of course.
I had left it at his apartment.
Unlocked often.
Saved passwords.
Tax folder.
Everything.
“You copied my identity.”
“I didn’t know what Chloe was doing at first.”
“Stop saying at first.”
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not useful.”
Robert pointed to the transfer pattern.
“They built a record showing Hannah moving money out of Thomas’s accounts remotely.”
Mom said, “That is absurd.”
Robert looked at her.
“You’re right. It is sloppy.”
Her face tightened.
He continued.
“Enough to create suspicion, though.”
I stared at a series of transfers.
$18,000.
$12,500.
$9,200.
All authorized from Seattle IP addresses.
Except I had not done any of them.
“How?”
Jason said nothing.
Robert answered.
“Remote desktop.”
I looked at Jason.
He nodded.
“I installed it.”
“On my laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Chloe said she needed access to your old photos for Dad’s memorial.”
I almost laughed.
“You believed that?”
“No.”
His honesty surprised me.
“I knew something was wrong.”
“And did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Mom moved toward the staircase.
The officer blocked her again.
She said, “I need medication.”
I watched.
“What medication?”
She stared at me.
“Blood pressure.”
Jason opened his silver tin again.
I looked at it this time.
White round tablets.
He took another.
Robert’s gaze followed.
He said, “Jason, what are those?”
“Clonazepam.”
“Prescription yours?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“A year.”
Robert held out his hand.
“May I see the bottle?”
Jason frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your father-in-law’s medication records show unexplained sedation.”
The hallway went still.
Jason’s face changed.
“I never gave him anything.”
Nobody had accused him yet.
Robert noticed.
So did I.
“What sedation?”
He looked at me.
“We found inconsistencies in Thomas’s medication logs.”
Mom shouted, “He was on hospice!”
“No,” Robert said. “He was receiving palliative support. That does not explain unprescribed sedatives.”
My chest tightened.
“Unprescribed?”
“We need a nurse to confirm.”
A memory flashed.
Dad’s 2:17 a.m. call.
His weak voice.
Don’t let anyone pressure you into signing anything.
I looked at Mom.
She looked away.
Robert called a number.
No answer.
He called another.
Then a third.
A woman picked up.
He put it on speaker.
“Megan Ruiz?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Robert Miller. I represented Thomas Brooks.”
Silence.
Then:
“I already told Linda I wasn’t discussing this.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
I stepped closer.
“This is Hannah.”
The woman stopped breathing.
“His daughter?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then she whispered, “Did she finally do something?”
My mouth went dry.
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
Mom lunged for the phone.
The officer caught her.
I grabbed it first.
“Megan, what happened?”
Her voice dropped.
“I told Linda if she touched his pills again, I was calling the police.”
I stared at Mom.
“What pills?”
Megan answered:
May you like
“The ones that weren’t prescribed to your father.”
CUT.
