Chapter 10 - THE ENVELOPE
I left the envelope unopened for twenty minutes.
That was irrational.
I knew it.
The paper inside did not become kinder because I ate cereal first.
Still, I ate cereal.
Then I opened it.
It was not an audit.
Not yet.
It was a notice asking about discrepancies connected to pass-through income reported from Caldwell Home Solutions two years earlier.
Income I had never received.
I called Priya.
She said one word.
"Good."
"Good?"
"A notice is better than enforcement. We respond with records."
"I don't have records."
"Your family does."
I laughed without humor. "That's reassuring."
By noon, I had requested tax transcripts and historical business filings.
By two, I learned the registered agent for Caldwell Home Solutions was my mother.
By four, I learned the company's mailing address had changed three times.
One address was my parents' house.
One was a rented mailbox.
The third was an apartment in Aurora.
Britney had lived there for nine months.
That night, she showed up at my apartment.
I had never given her the address.
I opened the door because I thought it was my grocery delivery.
There she stood in jeans and a black hoodie, hair tied up badly, mascara smudged under one eye.
For the first time since the coffee, she did not look angry.
She looked tired.
"How did you find me?"
"Mom had it from a Christmas package."
Of course she did.
"You can't be here."
"I drove an hour and a half."
"That doesn't create permission."
She flinched.
I almost felt bad.
Almost.
"I just want to talk."
"We can talk outside."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
We sat at a picnic table near the parking lot under a yellow light that made both of us look sick.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Britney rubbed at a crack in the table with her thumbnail.
"Dad told me you filed a police report."
"I did."
Her throat moved.
"Okay."
That was not the reaction I expected.
"Okay?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth would be a start."
She laughed once, looked away.
"You always say stuff like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're in a movie."
I stared at her.
Then, despite myself, I laughed.
A real laugh.
It surprised both of us.
For two seconds we were sisters again.
Then it was gone.
Britney swallowed.
"Mom opened the company. Dad knew. I did the bank stuff later."
"The car loan too?"
"Yes."
"The pay stubs?"
She looked at her hands.
"Yes."
The word was barely audible.
I waited.
"Why?"
"Because every time I tried anything, they asked for something I didn't have. Credit. Income. History. Whatever. And you had all of it."
"So you took mine."
"I borrowed it."
"No."
She looked up sharply.
I shook my head.
"Don't make it smaller because the real word feels bad."
Her eyes filled. She wiped them immediately, angry at the tears.
"You think I don't know I'm a screwup?"
I said nothing.
She leaned forward.
"Do you know what Mom says every time something goes wrong?"
I waited.
Britney's mouth twisted.
"She says, 'Call Erin. She'll know what to do.'"
That landed somewhere I was not ready for.
Then Britney added, "And this time, I needed you to know what to do before you knew there was a problem."
She reached into her pocket and put a small USB drive on the table.
"What's that?"
May you like
"Everything Mom told me to delete."
