Chapter 10 - The Woman in the Photograph
I did not accuse Micah.
Not immediately.
That mattered.
An older version of me might have.
The version trained by my family to treat panic as urgency.
Instead I handed him the photograph.
“Who is she?”
Micah looked at it.
His face changed.
Recognition.
Not guilt.
Something closer to annoyance.
“Lauren Price.”
“Who is Lauren Price?”
“Attorney.”
“Your attorney?”
“No.”
He looked at Dad.
Then back at me.
“Yours.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I contacted her yesterday.”
“You met her?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted to know whether you had a case before adding another thing to your plate.”
I stared at him.
“That was not your decision to make.”
“You’re right.”
No defense.
No excuse.
Just—
“You’re right.”
That stopped my anger from growing.
Micah continued.
“She specializes in financial fraud and family asset disputes.”
“When were you planning to tell me?”
“This morning.”
Dad pointed at the photograph.
“Who took it?”
That was the more important question.
Micah turned it over.
“Dalia.”
“Maybe.”
I looked closer.
The restaurant window reflected the street.
Across from Micah’s table was a parked black SUV.
I recognized it.
Mom’s.
Which meant Mom had followed him.
Not Dalia.
Or both.
I called Lauren.
She answered immediately.
Micah explained.
Lauren’s tone changed from professional to severe.
“Do not destroy the photographs.”
“We won’t.”
“Do not respond to threats.”
“I already filed reports.”
“Good.”
Then she asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Are you prepared to file against your mother and sister if the evidence supports it?”
Dad looked at me.
Micah looked at me.
I thought about the wedding cake.
The fake email.
Rachel.
The forged lease.
The bank transfer.
The business loan attempt.
The photograph.
Then I thought about one click.
The tuition payment.
The moment this had started.
Not because I attacked them.
Because I stopped financing them.
“Yes.”
Lauren’s answer was immediate.
“Then stop treating them like family for the purpose of evidence.”
That sentence hit hard.
“From this moment forward, treat every message as discoverable.”
“Understood.”
“Do not warn them.”
“I won’t.”
“And Vera?”
“Yes?”
“If your mother has stored identity documents for years, this may be much bigger than your sister.”
“How much bigger?”
“We don’t know.”
That afternoon, Lauren obtained copies of the lease records.
The fake email had been created using an IP address associated with my parents’ home.
But the signature submission happened somewhere else.
Dalia’s university library.
Two people.
Mom created the identity.
Dalia used it.
At least that was what the evidence suggested.
At 6:40 p.m., Lauren called again.
“We found something else.”
“What?”
“The lease isn’t the only document.”
My chest tightened.
“What else?”
“A student loan application.”
“In Dalia’s name?”
“No.”
Lauren paused.
“In yours.”
I sat down.
“How much?”
“Eighty-two thousand dollars.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“For what?”
“A graduate program.”
“Dalia is an undergraduate.”
“I know.”
“Then whose graduate program?”
Silence.
May you like
Then Lauren said—
“Your mother’s.”
