Chapter 7: My Father Gave Her My Social Security Number
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except my sister crying.
"The first loan wasn't my idea, Claire. Dad gave me your information and told me exactly where to apply.""
I gripped my phone so tightly that my fingers hurt.
"Say that again.""
Vanessa sniffed.
"I know how it sounds.""
"I don't care how it sounds. Tell me what happened.""
"He came to my apartment six years ago. He had a folder with your information in it. Your Social Security number, your old address, copies of your identification. Everything.""
Six years.
The first fraudulent loan had appeared only two years ago, according to my credit report. But the property agreement had existed long before that.
"Why would Dad have my information?"" I asked.
"He said you were supposed to be part of the property company. He told me everything was legal.""
"And you believed him?""
"At first.""
"Vanessa, you took out fifty thousand dollars in my name.""
"I know!""
Her shout made me pull the phone away from my ear.
Then she lowered her voice.
"I know what I did. I'm not trying to pretend I didn't. But you need to understand that Dad told me the first loan was a temporary arrangement. He said he was going to transfer the money back before it affected your credit.""
I stared at the photocopied property agreement on my coffee table.
"How much was the first loan?""
"Ten thousand dollars.""
"And the other forty thousand?""
She hesitated.
"Some went to the company. Some went to Dad. Some went to me.""
"What did you spend your portion on?""
"Rent. Bills. The car. Other things.""
"Designer bags?""
Silence.
"Trips?""
"Some of it.""
I closed my eyes.
There it was. The truth, stripped of excuses.
My father might have started the scheme, but Vanessa had made her own choices. She had continued borrowing money after she knew I hadn't consented. She had watched me struggle to buy a house while she spent the money that had destroyed my credit.
And when I confronted her, she'd told me I wasn't using my credit anyway.
"Why didn't you tell me this at the restaurant?"" I asked.
"Because Dad said he'd lose everything if I admitted what happened.""
"And what about me?""
She began crying again.
"I was selfish.""
For the first time since this nightmare began, she had said something honest without blaming me, our parents, or the circumstances.
It wasn't enough.
But it was a start.
"Did Mom know?"" I asked.
"I don't know what she knew at the beginning. She knew about the company. She knew about the first house. Later, she helped Dad organize the paperwork.""
"Did she know the loans were fraudulent?""
"I think she suspected.""
I rubbed my forehead.
Everyone had suspected something. Everyone had seen a piece of the truth. And every time someone had a chance to stop the damage, they'd chosen silence.
"Vanessa, I need you to tell the detective everything.""
"No.""
The answer came so quickly that I almost laughed.
"You just admitted Dad gave you my information.""
"If I tell the police that, he'll say I planned everything.""
"Did you?""
"No! But I took the money. I signed the applications. I knew you hadn't given me permission.""
"Then tell them that.""
"He'll destroy me.""
I thought about the mortgage application I'd been denied. The car I'd walked away from. The collection notices that had kept me awake at night.
"He already destroyed me," I said.
She went quiet.
I could hear a television playing in the background, followed by the sound of a door closing.
"Claire," she whispered, "there's something else.""
I waited.
"The last loan wasn't supposed to happen.""
"What do you mean?""
"Three months ago, Dad told me to apply for another credit line. He said the company needed money to settle an outstanding obligation. I told him I wouldn't do it again.""
"But you did.""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
"Because he showed me documents saying you were already a member of the company. He said you had agreed to take responsibility for the debt years ago.""
My stomach tightened.
"I never agreed to anything.""
"I know that now.""
"How could you know that?""
"Because I found a letter.""
"What letter?""
"A letter from Dad to Martin. It said the property was supposed to be transferred to you only after the company settled its debts. It also said you hadn't signed the original agreement.""
I sat perfectly still.
My father hadn't simply hidden the company from me. According to Vanessa, he had acknowledged in writing that I had never signed the original agreement.
Yet he'd continued using my identity.
"Where is that letter?"" I asked.
"At Dad's house. In his office.""
"Can you get it?""
"I don't know.""
"Vanessa, that letter could prove what happened.""
"Or it could get me arrested.""
I didn't answer.
She exhaled shakily.
"I'll find it.""
"Don't take anything or alter any records. Talk to your attorney or the detective about how to provide evidence safely.""
"You're still telling me what to do.""
"No. I'm telling you not to make another decision that creates more problems.""
She was silent for a long time.
Then she asked, "Do you really hate me?""
The question caught me off guard.
I looked at the birthday photograph on my mantel. My family had taken it before dinner, when everyone was still smiling. Vanessa stood beside me with her arm around my shoulders.
I remembered teaching her to ride a bicycle. Helping her study for exams. Sitting beside her in a hospital waiting room when she had her appendix removed.
I remembered every time she'd called me because she needed someone.
"No," I finally said.
"But I don't trust you.""
She started crying again.
"I don't know how to fix this.""
"Start by telling the truth.""
After we hung up, I contacted Detective Harris and arranged to provide a statement about the call. I made it clear that Vanessa's claims were unverified and that I had no recording of the conversation.
The detective thanked me and said she would pursue the matter through the proper channels.
The next morning, she called back.
"We've obtained additional records related to the property company," she said.
"Some of the information appears consistent with what you've reported, but we still need to establish who authorized the transactions.""
"Did you find anything from Martin Cole?""
"We're reviewing documents he provided.""
I held my breath.
"Did he tell you my father gave Vanessa the information?""
"He has described a similar sequence of events. That doesn't establish every allegation, but it gives us specific records to investigate.""
After the call, I went to work.
At lunchtime, an email arrived from my attorney. Attached was a copy of a document filed with the state business registry four years earlier.
It listed me as the company's managing member.
Beneath my name was a signature.
Mine, almost.
But the document included a digital filing certification showing that the submission had been made from an email address associated with my father.
I forwarded it to Detective Harris.
Then I opened the original company filing again.
Something about the date bothered me.
The company had been formed eighteen months before the first loan appeared on my credit report. The fraudulent accounts had begun much later, but my name had been attached to the business from the beginning.
That meant my father had established the foundation long before Vanessa started borrowing money.
I was no longer looking at a single act of identity theft.
I was looking at a scheme that had developed over years, with different people making different decisions.
And I needed to know what my father had planned from the beginning.
That evening, Vanessa sent me a text.
I found the letter.
A second message followed.
Dad knows I have it.
Then my phone rang.
My father.
I let it go to voicemail.
He called again.
Then a third time.
Finally, a text appeared.
You need to meet me tomorrow. Alone. There are things about the first house you still don't understand.
I showed the message to my attorney and Detective Harris.
Both advised me not to meet him privately.
I replied that any discussion would need to happen through the appropriate legal channels.
My father's response arrived less than a minute later.
If you let the police see that letter, you'll find out why the house was never really yours.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then another message appeared.
And you'll understand why I used your name in the first place.
