« I mean, I’m filing a complaint for identity theft, » I said.
His voice rose.
« Emily, don’t… »
« No, » I said, having calmed down again. « You have no right to tell me what I shouldn’t do when you’re the one who did it. I’m protecting myself. »
His tone became desperate.
« If you do that, it will affect us, » he said.
I almost laughed.
« It’s already done, » I replied.
Then I hung up.
Zoé stared at me.
« You’re really going to denounce them, » she said.
I reviewed the credit report again.
To the scales.
On the dates indicated.
Faced with the fact that my future was being quietly ruined while my family told me I was being dramatic.
“Yes,” I replied.
The next day, I went to the police station.
Not the kind of drama you see on TV.
A small brick building with beige walls and a waiting room that smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink.
The receptionist asked me what I needed.
« I need to file a complaint for identity theft, » I said.
He raised his eyebrows.
« Do you know who did this? » he asked.
I hesitated.
So I said it.
« My parents, » I replied.
The agent’s expression changed.
No surprise there.
Rather, a weary understanding.
« Okay, » he said. « We’ll introduce you to someone. »
An inspector named Lisa Moreno took my statement.
She was about thirty years old, her hair pulled back, her gaze fixed.
She didn’t ask me why I was doing that.
She didn’t ask me if I could simply « manage on my own ».
She asked for facts.
Dates.
Account names.
Sales.
And then she asked the question that made my throat tighten.
« When did you discover it? »
« Yesterday, » I said.
« And when did you stop living with them? » she asked.
I swallowed.
« The night before, » I replied.
His pen stopped.
« So, » she said softly, « they kicked you out, then they tried to use your money, and you discovered debts in your name. »
“Yes,” I replied.
She looked at me.
« It’s a recurring pattern, » she said.
I nodded.
I had begun to understand that word.
Model.
Lisa gave me a case number.
She told me what to do.
Contact the creditors.
To dispute the accounts.
Block my credit.
Document everything.
She didn’t say it as if she were giving advice.
She said it as if she were handing me tools.
That evening, I blocked my credit with the three credit rating agencies.
I changed the passwords everywhere.
I created a separate email address solely for legal documents.
I created a folder on my laptop called Paper Trail.
Zoé was watching me from the sofa.
« It looks like you’re building a fortress, » she said.
“Yes,” I replied.
The strangest thing is that once I started, the panic dissipated.
Because fear thrives on uncertainty.
Once you have identified the problem, you can fight it.
The 36 missed calls from my parents suddenly made perfect sense.
They weren’t calling just because they needed money.
They were calling out because the walls were closing in on them.
Because their shortcuts had ultimately had consequences.
And because I had been that discreet safety net they always assumed was there.
Until I am no longer.
Two days later, Jake arrived.
Not at my job.
Not at Zoé’s.
At my campus library.
I was sitting at a table, my laptop open, trying to rebuild the stock market project he had corrupted.
I had started all over again from scratch.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I refused to let him steal that too.
I was concentrating, headphones on, when a shadow appeared on my screen.
I looked up.
Jake stood there, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his jaw clenched.
He looked around as if he were annoyed that the world contained other people.
I slowly removed my headphones.
« What are you doing here? » I asked.
His gaze swept over my laptop.
« Are you working on your little drawings? » he sneered.
I kept my voice even.
« Go, » I said.
Jake tightened his lips.
« Dad said you filed a complaint, » he hissed.
I stared at him.
“Yes,” I replied.
Her face turned red.
« You’re really going to ruin our lives, » he said.
I blinked.
« You’ve ruined your lives, » I replied. « I simply refuse to let you ruin mine with you. »
Jake leaned forward.
« You think you’re so clever, » he spat. « You think you’re superior to us now. »
I looked around me.
People looked up, curious.
A librarian was already observing.
Jake noticed and lowered his voice, but she didn’t weaken.
« You don’t know what you’re doing, » he said. « If you tell them it’s fraud, they’ll go after Dad. They’ll go after Mom. They’ll go after me. »
I had a knot in my stomach.
GOOD.
That was the goal.
« I know exactly what I’m doing, » I said.
Jake sneered.
« You always act like you’re the victim, » he said.
I felt my hands close around the edge of the table.
« I’m the victim, » I said in a low voice. « You used my laptop. You stole my money. You pushed me against a door. And now you’re telling me I’m the problem because I won’t let you continue. »
Jake’s eyes sparkled.
« You owe us something, » he said.
I stared at him.
The sense of superiority expressed in that sentence was almost impressive.
« I owe you nothing, » I replied.
Jake’s lips curled into a smile that was anything but amusing.
« If the house disappears, » he said, « where do you think Dad will go? Where do you think Mom will go? »
I didn’t reply.
Because the answer was obvious.
They thought they were coming towards me.
They thought I would welcome them.
They thought my life was expandable.
Jake leaned closer.
« Do you think Zoé is going to let you live there forever? » he whispered. « Do you think everything will be alright? »
I raised my chin.
« I will be, » I said.
He shook his head.
« You are heartless, » he murmured.
I almost laughed.
« Heartless, » I repeated. « You kicked me out and Mom applauded. But I’m heartless. »
Jake’s jaw tightened.
Then, like a switch flipping, he changed tactics.
« Listen, » he said, lowering his voice. « Just tell them it was a misunderstanding. Tell them you agreed. Tell them you’ll pay as soon as possible. We’ll sort this out. I’ll… I’ll find a job. »
I stared at him.
He said it as if he were performing a heroic act.
« You should have found a job years ago, » I said.
His face contorted.
« Emily, » he said, his voice sharp again, « stop acting like you’re perfect. »
I got up.
Not because I wanted to fight.
Because I wanted to leave.
« This conversation is over, » I said.
Jake grabbed my arm.
Not difficult.
But that’s enough.
Enough for my skin to remember it.
So much so that it made me feel nauseous.
The librarian’s chair scraped.
« Sir, » she snapped. « Let her go. »
Jake let go of me as if he had touched something burning hot.
He took a step back, his hands raised.
« Relax, » he murmured.
I rubbed my arm and stared at him.
« Never touch me again, » I said softly.
Jake tightened his lips.
« You’re causing a scandal, » he hissed.
I looked around at the people who were watching.
« No, » I said. « It’s you. »
I then grabbed my laptop, my charger, my bag, and I left.
While I was doing that, my heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
An adrenaline rush made me feel like my body was finally catching up with my mind’s decision.
I didn’t feel safe in his presence.
And I wasn’t going to pretend anymore.
That evening, I sent an email to Detective Moreno.
I told him that Jake had approached me.
That he had tried to intimidate me.
That he had grabbed my arm.
I have attached the library’s incident report.
Yes, the librarian deposited one.
Apparently, when you are calm and precise, people listen.
The following week flew by.
Calls with credit card companies.
Dispute forms.
Sworn statements.
The music had long stretches that gave me a toothache.
And all this time, messages from my parents.
At first, they were furious.
How could you do that?
You are ruining us.
After all that.
Then they began to beg.
We made mistakes.
We were desperate.
We are a family.
Then they became manipulative.
Your brother is depressed.
Your father can’t sleep.
I raised you better.
And behind each message lay the same assumption.
I’d give in to that.
That I would feel guilty enough to fix it.
I didn’t do it.
Not because I was made of stone.
Because ultimately, I was made of limitations.
The public confession came after that.
Not because my mother suddenly discovered honesty.
Because she realized that the story was going to leak anyway.
Relatives had started asking questions.
People noticed the « For Sale » sign.
The neighbors were whispering.
And my mother could smell the collapse of a reputation like some people smell smoke.
So she posted a message.
She presented it as an act of bravery.
As if she were « taking responsibility » for her mistakes.
She used words like « hurt » and « regret ».
She did not use words like « theft ».
She didn’t mention my name until she was forced to
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