Dad stayed on the phone without speaking. I could hear his breathing, uneven and shallow, as though he were trying to make sense of a number that had appeared on a screen and refused to become real.
“Megan Carter,” he repeated.
I looked at the photograph Kevin had sent me. The spreadsheet was still open on my laptop. Under Dad’s name, the exact amount sat beside the word Complete.
“Dad, don’t touch the account.”
“I already called the bank.”
“What did they say?”
“They said the transfer was authorized through online banking.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did you authorize it?”
“No.”
“Then tell them that.”
“I did.”
“What else?”
“They froze the account.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“That’s good.”
“No, Liam. They said the transfer happened three days ago.”
Three days.
Before the apartment confrontation.
Before Megan showed up with Kevin’s family.
Before I even knew there was a problem.
I looked again at the timeline I had written down.
Megan had requested my apartment that morning.
She had known Mom could potentially get her inside.
She had already been arranging housing.
She had already applied for credit.
And Dad’s money had already moved.
The weekend demand suddenly looked less like the beginning of the problem and more like the moment Megan had realized she was running out of time.
“Dad,” I said, “how did she get access to your banking?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever give Mom your password?”
“No.”
“Megan?”
“I gave her access years ago to help Mom with some bills.”
“When?”
“Before you and Rachel separated.”
That was years ago.
“Did you change your password afterward?”
“I thought I did.”
“You need to check.”
“I know.”
His voice cracked.
“I trusted her.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Because I had trusted her too.
Not with money.
Not anymore.
But enough to leave my apartment unlocked for years.
Enough to believe that if she asked for something, she would at least admit when she was asking.
Dad said, “I’m going to the bank in the morning.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “Thank you.”
We ended the call shortly after.
I barely slept.
At six the next morning, I was already awake.
I made coffee and sat at the kitchen table with my laptop open. I reviewed every screenshot again.
The fraudulent application.
The Cedar Ridge spreadsheet.
The credit targets.
The notes.
The account information.
There was one phrase I kept returning to.
Bridge funding.
It suggested Megan expected money to be needed temporarily.
For what?
I searched Cedar Ridge online.
The property was a new development on the edge of the city. The larger units were expensive. Much more expensive than anything I had ever considered renting.
Then I found a business registration connected to the name appearing on Megan’s spreadsheet.
A company had been registered six weeks earlier.
The address was not Megan’s.
It was a virtual office.
The listed organizer was Megan.
I stared at the screen.
So the business was real.
That didn’t make the financial plan legitimate.
It made it more complicated.
At 7:12, Kevin texted.
“Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come by?”
I hesitated.
“Okay.”
He arrived twenty minutes later carrying two coffees.
He looked exhausted.
“Where’s Megan?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t talked to her?”
“No.”
Kevin handed me a coffee.
“I slept at my brother’s.”
“Good.”
He sat across from me.
“I need to tell you something.”
I waited.
“Megan has been talking about Cedar Ridge for months.”
“How long?”
“Since spring.”
“What did she say?”
“That everyone would live closer together.”
“She told me she wanted a bigger apartment.”
“She told me it was already being worked out.”
“By who?”
“Your mother.”
That answer didn't surprise me.
“What else?”
Kevin looked down.
“She said you were going to contribute the largest amount because you had the strongest credit.”
My jaw tightened.
“Did she say I agreed?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Every time I questioned it.”
I stared at him.
Kevin rubbed his face.
“I should have asked you directly.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because she made it sound like you were already involved.”
That sentence stayed between us.
It was exactly how Megan had made the apartment situation work.
She created an agreement in other people’s minds before asking the person whose permission mattered.
I opened my laptop.
“Look at this.”
I showed him the spreadsheet.
Kevin’s face drained.
“She had my name on there.”
“And mine.”
“She planned twelve thousand from you.”
“Apparently.”
He pointed to his own row.
“Research.”
I nodded.
“She hadn’t finished applying for yours.”
Kevin stared at the screen.
“Thank God.”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“If she had access to your information, she might still have been able to.”
He immediately pulled out his phone.
“I’m freezing my credit.”
“Do it.”
He started typing.
Then he looked up.
“Liam.”
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“She asked me yesterday whether you had found the envelope.”
I stared at him.
“She knew I found it?”
“I don’t think she knew for sure.”
“Then why ask?”
“She said you were going through her things.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Her things were in my filing cabinet.”
Kevin shook his head.
“I know.”
A car door slammed outside.
We both looked toward the window.
It was Mom.
She entered the building several minutes later.
I didn't invite her upstairs.
Instead, I met her in the lobby.
She looked older than she had the night before.
“Liam.”
“Did you know Dad’s money was transferred?”
Her face changed.
“No.”
“Did Megan tell you?”
“No.”
“Did you know she had access to his account?”
“She used to help with bills.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Mom looked toward the floor.
“I knew she had access.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did you know she was borrowing money?”
“No.”
“Did you know she applied for credit in my name?”
She started crying.
“I knew she was trying to arrange financing.”
“For what?”
“The business.”
“What business?”
She hesitated.
“Her company.”
“And you thought using my credit was acceptable?”
“No.”
“Then why did you verify the lender’s call?”
“I panicked.”
“You said yes.”
“I thought if I denied it, everything would collapse.”
“Everything already collapsed.”
Mom wiped her face.
“She promised she would pay everyone back.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I know.”
For once, she didn't argue.
That almost made it harder.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Did she call you?”
“Early this morning.”
“What did she say?”
Mom looked at me.
“She said she needed time.”
“For what?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
I nodded slowly.
“Did she say anything about the money?”
Mom hesitated.
“She said the money wasn't stolen.”
I stared at her.
“What exactly did she mean?”
“She said it was an investment.”
“An investment she made using Dad’s account.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I know.”
I wanted to be angry.
I was angry.
But underneath it was something else.
A strange sadness.
My mother had spent years asking me to forgive behavior that would have been unacceptable from a stranger.
And now she was standing in front of me because the consequences had finally become too large to hide.
“I need you to tell me everything you know.”
Mom nodded.
Then she said something I hadn't expected.
“Megan didn't start this for the business.”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“She had debts.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know all of them.”
“Mom.”
“She owed people.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“That’s not enough.”
“She said she could fix everything if she got the business running.”
I thought about the spreadsheet.
Targets.
Accounts.
Credit.
Bridge funding.
Maybe the company wasn't the destination.
Maybe it was the story Megan had used to justify borrowing the money.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Is this Liam Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Victor Hale. I believe you know my sister.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
“Megan.”
I looked at Mom.
She had gone pale.
Victor continued.
“I've been trying to reach her.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to know whether you are involved in the Cedar Ridge purchase.”
My heart stopped.
“What purchase?”
“The property Megan promised me would be secured this week.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“What did she promise you?”
“She said your family was financing it.”
I looked at Mom.
Victor continued.
“She told me your brother had agreed to provide the remaining funds.”
I closed my eyes.
Another person.
Another promise.
Another version of the same lie.
“How much did she tell you?”
There was a pause.
“Thirty-two thousand.”
The exact amount listed for the business buy-in.
I opened my eyes.
“Victor, don't send Megan any more money.”
He went silent.
Then he asked, “Why?”
“Because I don't think the money she's been using belongs to her.”
His breathing changed.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you need to speak with your bank.”
Victor swore.
Then he said, “She told me you were helping her.”
“I wasn't.”
The call ended.
Mom looked at me.
“Who was that?”
“Someone else Megan made promises to.”
My phone immediately buzzed again.
This time it was a message from Megan.
“Stop talking to people.”
I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
“You don't understand what you've done.”
I typed one response.
“Come home and explain it.”
The typing indicator appeared.
Then disappeared.
A minute later, one final message arrived.
“I can't.”
I read it twice.
Then the phone rang.
It was Detective Ramirez.
“Mr. Carter, we need to talk.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Detective Ramirez Asked One Question That Connected the Missing Documents, the Credit Application, and the Money Already Sent Away
One Casual Text Turned Into a Family Demand I Had Never Agreed To, and I Realized Too Late That My Apartment Was Only the Beginning
Part 5 of 20
