Chapter 8 - My Name on the Check
The bank manager didn't say "identity theft" right away. She said "disputed authorization" and "possible misuse of personal information." The careful words made my stomach hurt worse.
Someone had used copies of my driver's license and tax identification information to open a business account. The application claimed I provided consulting services to Ryan's construction company. It held deposits from grant-funded jobs and paid out checks I had never seen.
"I want the account frozen while this is investigated," I said.
"We can open a fraud case and preserve the records," the manager replied. "You'll also need to file a police report."
I already had one report about my shoulder. Now I was starting another about my name.
In the parking lot, I called Dad. Since his stroke, he sometimes needed a moment to find the right word, but he understood every word I said.
"I should've seen it," I told him. "All those late nights. All the questions about my passwords."
"June," he said slowly, "a person who trusts someone isn't the person who stole the money."
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel. Dad waited while I cried.
That afternoon, investigators examined the account paperwork. One contact number belonged to Diane. The authorized representative listed beneath my forged signature was Ryan. He had handed me flowers on our eighth anniversary three weeks after opening the account.
At home, I found his anniversary card: YOU MAKE EVERYTHING WE BUILD STRONGER.
I tore it in half, taped it back together, and kept it with the other records.
Just before midnight, a man called from a blocked number. His voice was tired and guarded.
"My name's Luis Navarro. I worked on your husband's crew. I can prove he knew those foundations weren't finished."
May you like
I sat up straight. "Will you talk to an investigator?"
"I was going to," he said. "Then they told me I'd be arrested if I opened my mouth."
