She never looked at me.
I limped nearly two miles to my Aunt Rebecca’s house.
Rebecca took me in.
She got my crutches adjusted.
She helped me find medical care.
She became the parent I should have had.
Two years later came another betrayal.
When I applied for financing to buy a functional prosthetic for college,
I learned that more than $40,000 in delinquent debt was attached to my
identity.
Credit cards.
Personal loans.
Luxury-store accounts.
Accounts I had never opened.
Resolving the identity theft and rebuilding my credit consumed years.
Some spending appeared connected to the privileged life my parents had
created around Vanessa.
Now, nineteen years after throwing me out, they were standing in my home
asking me for one million dollars to save her.
I pressed the private elevator button.
“Get out.”
Mom’s eyes flashed.
“If Vanessa ends up in federal prison, it will be entirely your fault!”
“No,” I said. “It will be the fault of whatever Vanessa did.”
That evening, I retained an investigator and instructed my attorney,
Nathan Cole, to review anything involving my name or companies.
Three days later, the investigator placed a dossier on my desk.
“Ms. Mercer, your sister doesn’t need the money to cover a bad
investment.”
I looked up.
“Then what is it for?”
He slid a photograph toward me.
A twenty-four-year-old woman sat in a rehabilitation center.
Her name was Maya Bennett.
“She needs it because of what happened to this woman.”
“What happened?”
“There was an accident at one of Vanessa’s development sites.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was Vanessa driving?”
“No.”
“Then why does she need a million dollars?”
He opened the next page.
“Because there are allegations that safety records were altered after
the incident.”
I went still.
Then he placed another document beside the photograph.
At the top was the name of the company connected to the project.
MERCER VANCE DEVELOPMENT PARTNERS.
My former surname appeared in the corporate paperwork.
I had never created that company.
I had never invested in it.
And I had never authorized anyone to use my name.
Nathan leaned closer to the page.
Then he pointed to a signature.
Mine.
Except I had never signed it.
The investigator looked at me.
“Your parents didn’t come here because you’re rich.”
He paused.
“They came because if this audit follows the documents far enough,
someone may ask why your name is attached to Vanessa’s company.”
I stared at the signature.
Nineteen years earlier, my parents had used my identity while I was
still a child.
Now someone appeared to have done it again.
And this time, they weren’t hiding shopping bills.
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They were trying to place me between my sister and a woman who might
never walk again.
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