Chapter 20 - THE REVIEW
I had spent weeks collecting proof because I thought proof ended arguments.
It does not.
Proof starts different arguments.
The security officer, Mr. Wexler, put three pages on the table.
Printouts from [email protected].
One read:
I am fine being listed as owner as long as I don't have to handle the day-to-day. Use my income if it helps with financing.
Another:
Brit can sign for me if needed. We all know what this is for.
The third was a scan of my old military ID.
"I did not write those emails," I said.
Wexler nodded.
"Can you prove that?"
"The recovery number belongs to my mother. The account was created without my knowledge. The bank's fraud unit has it. So does a detective."
"Good. We'll need documentation."
He was not accusing me.
That almost made it worse.
He was checking.
That was his job.
And suddenly my family mess sat under fluorescent lights at work, where I had spent ten years making sure nobody had a reason to question my paperwork.
"There is one issue," Wexler said.
I knew which one before he said it.
The real 2018 email.
Sure, if it's just paperwork.
I handed it over myself.
Morales read it.
Her face stayed neutral.
Wexler asked, "Did you disclose ownership in this company after this exchange?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I forgot the email existed and did not understand that they had actually made me an owner."
"Did you follow up?"
"No."
The word felt awful.
There was no villain in that sentence.
Just me not paying attention.
"Why not?"
I looked at my hands.
"Because I trusted my parents and I was busy, and because 'just paperwork' sounded harmless."
Wexler wrote something down.
"Okay."
I hated okay.
The review took three weeks.
During those three weeks, I was removed from one sensitive procurement process. Temporarily, Morales stressed.
It still felt like someone had taken a clean white uniform and put one fingerprint on it.
A coworker named Dawson asked if I was in trouble.
"Family thing," I said.
He grimaced. "Worse than trouble."
I laughed.
It helped.
Britney's attorney contacted Priya. Britney wanted to cooperate with investigators and sign a sworn statement separating my actual 2018 consent from the later forged documents.
I said yes.
Then I made another mistake.
I called Britney and thanked her.
She went quiet.
"Don't thank me," she said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not doing it for you."
The words stung.
"Okay."
"I'm doing it because my lawyer says it's the best thing for me."
"Okay."
"And because it's true," she added, annoyed. "But mostly the lawyer thing."
I started laughing.
She did too.
It was awkward and a little mean and weirdly normal.
Then she said, "Mom knows I signed the statement."
My laughter stopped.
"How?"
"She called my lawyer's office pretending to be me."
I sat up.
"What?"
"They caught it because she didn't know my date of birth."
I stared at the wall.
Of all the details, that one was the saddest.
My mother had used my sister's identity and gotten caught because she did not know her own daughter's birthday.
The next day, Detective Bell called.
"We have enough to refer charges," he said.
"Against Britney?"
May you like
"Against more than Britney."
