Chapter 9: The Name They Tried to Take From Me
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I stared at Peter, waiting for him to explain.
"My identity?"" I repeated.
"What does that mean?""
Peter pulled out a chair.
"Please sit down, Mia.""
"I'd rather stand.""
He nodded.
"Your father discovered that someone had attempted to use your personal information to establish a separate financial account. The account was connected to documents concerning your inheritance.""
I looked at Mr. Harrison.
"Someone opened an account in my name?""
"We don't know whether the account was actually opened or whether the paperwork was only prepared," he said.
"But we now have a reason to investigate.""
Mom gripped the back of a chair.
"This is getting out of hand.""
Peter turned toward her.
"You knew about the account.""
"I knew Daniel was worried about paperwork. I didn't know anyone had used Mia's identity.""
"Then why did you try to get the original agreement from me?""
"Because I was trying to protect my daughter!""
I looked at her.
"Which daughter?""
The question struck her harder than I expected.
She stared at me, unable to answer.
For years, I'd watched her defend Brianna before even asking what had happened. I'd watched her dismiss my achievements, excuse my sister's cruelty, and insist that I was selfish whenever I asked for something of my own.
Now, faced with evidence that someone might have tried to redirect my inheritance, she still insisted she was protecting me.
But from what?
The truth?
Or the consequences?
Mr. Harrison interrupted the silence.
"Linda, we need to establish the facts. If you have documents relating to an account opened in Mia's name, I strongly advise you to preserve them and provide them to your independent counsel.""
Mom shook her head.
"I have nothing else.""
Peter's expression hardened.
"Then explain this.""
He removed a folded bank statement from his briefcase and placed it beside the disputed agreement.
The statement showed an account ending in four digits I didn't recognize.
The account holder's name was listed as Mia Bennett.
But the mailing address wasn't ours.
It was an apartment building across town.
The account had been opened six months before Dad died.
I felt sick.
"I've never lived there.""
"I know," Peter said.
"Daniel found this statement among the papers he reviewed before his final hospitalization.""
Mr. Harrison examined the page.
"Where did this come from?""
"Daniel gave it to me. He asked me to keep it until the estate records could be reviewed.""
I looked at the transactions.
Several deposits had been made into the account, followed by withdrawals and transfers. The amounts varied, but one transfer stood out.
It matched the amount listed beside the final authorization on Brianna's handwritten payment sheet.
"That's the money," I whispered.
"Possibly," Mr. Harrison said.
"The dates and amounts need to be compared with the original bank records before we can establish a connection.""
I pointed to the account holder's signature.
It was supposed to be mine.
Except it wasn't.
The signature looked like someone had copied my name from a school form, reproducing the letters with careful, awkward precision.
I knew because I had signed hundreds of forms over the years.
My handwriting was rounder.
The capital M was different.
And I always crossed the final stroke of my B with a small upward flick.
This signature had none of those details.
"Someone forged my name.""
Mr. Harrison examined the document.
"It appears inconsistent with the examples you've provided, but a qualified examiner will need to determine whether it was forged.""
Mom sat down abruptly.
Her hands were trembling.
I turned toward her.
"Did you know this account existed?""
She stared at the floor.
"Linda," Mr. Harrison said firmly.
"You need to answer the question.""
"I knew about an account.""
My heart seemed to stop.
"What?""
She looked up, tears gathering in her eyes.
"Your father wanted to put money aside for your education. He asked me to help organize some of the paperwork.""
"Then why was the account opened at another address?""
"I don't know.""
"Why was my name signed?""
"I didn't sign it.""
"Did Richard?""
Mom pressed her fingers against her temples.
"I don't know!""
Peter's voice grew quieter.
"Linda, Daniel showed me a copy of the account application. He believed Richard had prepared it.""
Mom's eyes filled.
"Richard told me it was temporary. He said the bank needed a separate account while the trust was being finalized.""
"And you believed him?"" I asked.
She looked at me.
"I wanted to believe him.""
The answer was so painfully familiar that I almost laughed.
She had wanted to believe Brianna's lies about my dress.
She had wanted to believe Richard's explanations about the estate.
She had wanted to believe that my father's money belonged to the household, that the restrictions were unnecessary, that everything would work out if nobody asked too many questions.
And whenever believing them hurt me, she had expected me to accept the damage.
Mr. Harrison gathered the papers.
"These records will need to be reviewed by the appropriate authorities. We should not attempt to determine responsibility based on incomplete documents.""
Mom suddenly stood.
"I am not going to sit here while everyone treats me like a criminal.""
"No one has declared you guilty of anything," he replied.
"But you have acknowledged knowing about an account opened in your daughter's name. That is relevant information.""
"I was trying to help!""
"Then cooperate with the investigation.""
She looked at me.
"Mia, please. Tell them you know I would never hurt you.""
I stared at her.
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to return to the days when I believed my mother would always protect me, when the worst thing she could do was tell me to clean my room or finish my homework.
But I couldn't pretend those days still existed.
"I know you wanted me to believe you," I said.
"I don't know what you actually did.""
She began to cry.
For the first time, I didn't rush to comfort her.
Peter escorted her into the hallway while Mr. Harrison continued organizing the documents.
A few minutes later, I heard their voices through the partly open door.
"You need to tell her the truth," Peter said.
"I can't.""
"You can. You simply don't want to face what it means.""
"You don't understand what Richard threatened to do.""
"Then explain it.""
Mom's voice dropped so low I could barely hear it.
"He said if I refused to cooperate, he'd tell everyone that I was responsible for Daniel's death.""
My blood ran cold.
I stood up.
Before I could reach the door, Mr. Harrison gently stopped me.
"Let them finish.""
I stared at him.
"She thinks Richard will blame her for Dad's death.""
"That is what she said. We don't know whether the threat was serious or whether it relates to the financial documents. But we need to hear the entire conversation before drawing conclusions.""
I forced myself to sit down.
A few moments later, Peter returned alone.
He closed the door.
"Your mother is leaving.""
"Did she tell you what happened the night Dad died?""
Peter nodded.
"She told me Richard had been pressuring her to get Daniel to sign documents before his final medical assessment. She says she didn't understand the full purpose of those documents.""
"Do you believe her?""
"I believe she is frightened. Whether everything she said is true is another matter.""
I looked at the bank statement.
"Could Richard have used my identity to take Dad's money?""
"It is possible. But we need the original account application and the bank's records.""
"How do we get them?""
Mr. Harrison answered from across the table.
"I'll submit the appropriate requests and coordinate with the investigators if the evidence warrants it. We also need to establish whether the funds were transferred into an account controlled by Richard, Linda, or another party.""
I thought of Brianna's message about the guardian agreement.
The laptop.
The signatures.
The account.
Every clue led to another question.
Then Peter reached into his briefcase and removed a small, battered notebook.
"This belonged to your father. I found it among the papers he asked me to keep.""
I recognized the dark leather cover immediately.
Dad had carried it everywhere during his final year.
He used it to record medication schedules, appointments, and little things he didn't want to forget.
I opened it carefully.
Most pages contained ordinary notes.
A grocery list.
A reminder to call his doctor.
A sketch of a flower he'd drawn beside my name.
Then I reached a page dated the day before he died.
Three lines had been underlined.
Richard brought the revised agreement again.
Linda says she doesn't know what he changed.
If anything happens tonight, Mia must know that the original documents are with Thomas.
Below those lines, Dad had written another sentence.
The account is only the beginning.
I looked up.
"What does that mean?""
Peter shook his head.
"I don't know. Daniel was investigating something beyond the account, but he never had time to explain everything.""
I turned the page.
A name was written in the margin.
*Eleanor Price.*
The notary.
Beside it was a phone number and a short note.
Ask her who was in the room.
Mr. Harrison took the notebook.
"This is important. We need to preserve it and contact Ms. Price again.""
I looked at the clock.
The meeting had lasted hours, yet I felt as though we were only beginning to understand the shape of the truth.
Then my phone rang.
Brianna.
I answered immediately.
"Mia, you need to come home.""
"What happened?""
"Richard is packing.""
My stomach tightened.
"Packing what?""
"His things. Mom is crying, and he says he's leaving before anyone can accuse him of anything.""
"Did he say where he's going?""
"No. But I found something in his desk.""
I stood.
"What?""
"A folder with bank records. The account in your name isn't the only one.""
My pulse raced.
"What do you mean?""
"There are other accounts. Different names, different addresses. But the same handwriting.""
I looked at Mr. Harrison.
He was already reaching for his coat.
"Brianna, don't touch anything else. Stay where you are.""
She began to cry.
"Mia, I think Richard used my name, too.""
The words hit me like a blow.
"What?""
"I found an application with my signature. I never opened that account.""
I closed my eyes.
For years, Brianna had believed she was the daughter our parents valued most. She had believed the money, the attention, and the protection were proof that she mattered more.
Now she was discovering that someone might have used her identity just as they had used mine.
"Listen to me," I said.
"Don't confront Richard. Don't sign anything. And don't let anyone take those records.""
"I'll try.""
The call ended.
Mr. Harrison and Peter hurried toward the door with me.
As we reached the parking lot, my phone vibrated again.
This time, the message came from Richard.
Tell your lawyer to stop digging.
A second message followed.
Your father knew exactly what he was signing.
Then came a photograph.
It showed my father in his hospital bed, his eyes closed, his hand resting beside a stack of papers.
The image was dated the night before he died.
Beneath it was a final message.
Ask your mother why she was the last person alone with him.
I stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
Mr. Harrison took one look at my face.
"What is it?""
I handed him the phone.
He studied the image, then looked at Peter.
Neither man spoke.
Finally, Peter whispered, "That photograph shouldn't exist.""
I turned toward him.
"Why?""
He looked as though he had just seen a ghost.
"Because Daniel was transferred to intensive care before that time. Visitors weren't permitted in his room afterward.""
I gripped the phone.
"Then who took it?""
Peter looked at the photograph again.
May you like
And when he finally answered, his voice was barely audible.
"The person who took that picture may be the only person who knows what happened during your father's final hour.""
