Detective Ramirez met me at the police station just after ten.
I brought my laptop, my phone, the printed screenshots, and the envelope I had found in the filing cabinet.
Kevin came with me.
Dad arrived separately.
Mom didn't.
We sat in a small interview room while Detective Ramirez reviewed the documents.
He stopped at the spreadsheet.
“Where did you get this?”
“My sister’s husband photographed it.”
“Did he have authorization to access the computer?”
“No.”
“Was the file already visible?”
“Yes.”
Ramirez nodded.
“We'll note that.”
He moved to the next page.
“Cedar Ridge.”
“Yes.”
“Your sister intended to rent or purchase property there?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“But she had financing plans.”
“Yes.”
“And your father's account shows a transfer.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Seven thousand five hundred.”
Ramirez wrote it down.
“Your mother knew about the credit application?”
“She knew Megan was arranging financing. She also verified some information when the lender called.”
“Did she knowingly participate in the application?”
“I don't know.”
“That distinction matters.”
I nodded.
He looked at me.
“Do not decide the legal conclusions yourself. Give us the facts.”
That was exactly what I was trying to do.
He asked about the missing USB.
I told him what it contained.
“Do you know whether your sister took it?”
“No.”
“But she had access to your apartment.”
“Yes.”
“Could she have copied documents from it?”
“Possibly.”
“Do you have backups?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He leaned back.
“Now I need to ask you something important.”
I waited.
“Have you ever authorized your sister to use your personal information for any financial purpose?”
“No.”
“Not even informally?”
“No.”
“Have you ever agreed to contribute money to her business?”
“No.”
“Have you ever agreed to move into Cedar Ridge?”
“No.”
“Have you ever told your family they could use your credit?”
“No.”
He wrote something down.
Then he asked, “Why do you think she believed you would?”
I thought about it.
“Because I usually gave in.”
Ramirez looked up.
“That isn't the same as permission.”
“I know.”
“Make sure you remember that.”
The door opened.
An officer stepped in and handed Ramirez a document.
He read it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He slid the paper toward me.
It was a bank statement.
Dad’s account.
The transfer had been made to an account under Megan’s company.
Not Megan personally.
The business.
I stared at the amount.
$7,500.
Date: three days earlier.
Reference: Initial operating capital.
Dad whispered, “She used my money to fund the company.”
Ramirez nodded.
“That's what the bank records indicate.”
Dad looked devastated.
“I never approved that.”
“I understand.”
Then Ramirez turned toward me.
“There’s another transaction.”
He placed another page on the table.
A deposit.
$12,000.
My name appeared beside the expected source.
I felt my throat close.
“That money isn't mine.”
“No funds have actually been withdrawn from your account,” Ramirez said. “The lender hasn't released the credit.”
I exhaled.
“So why does it show twelve thousand?”
“Because that's the requested amount.”
It was a projected deposit.
Not actual money.
Still, the application had been designed around it.
Someone had already assigned my nonexistent money to a purpose.
Then Ramirez said something that changed the direction of the conversation.
“Your sister appears to have been building a chain of credit.”
“What does that mean?”
“She wasn't applying for one loan. She was using one person's financial information to establish credibility for the next application.”
Dad looked at him.
“Can she do that?”
“Sometimes people try. Whether it succeeds depends on verification.”
Kevin leaned forward.
“So the business was just a front?”
“We haven't established that.”
Ramirez pointed to the documents.
“What we can say is that multiple financial applications and transfers appear connected.”
He looked at me.
“And we need to know whether there are more.”
I thought about the envelope.
The copied lease.
The missing USB.
The accounts.
The people Megan had mentioned.
Then I remembered something.
“What about the property?”
“What property?”
“Cedar Ridge.”
Ramirez looked at the papers.
“The larger unit?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know whether Megan applied?”
“I found a leasing inquiry.”
“Where?”
“Inside an envelope.”
He photographed the document.
Then he asked, “Do you know who signed the inquiry?”
I looked.
The signature was small.
But it wasn't Megan's.
It was mine.
I felt sick.
“I never signed this.”
Ramirez stared at it.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He compared it to the signature on my driver's license copy.
“They look similar.”
“I didn't sign it.”
He nodded.
“We'll have the document examined.”
Dad suddenly stood.
“I can't believe this.”
Ramirez told him to sit.
Dad did.
His hands shook.
“I should have seen it.”
I looked at him.
“This isn't your fault.”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“Maybe not. But I gave her access.”
“You trusted your daughter.”
“She used that trust.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then my phone buzzed.
Megan.
I didn't answer.
She left a voicemail.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Liam, please listen before you do anything else.”
I played it through the speaker.
“I didn't mean for it to get this far. I was going to fix everything. I swear.”
She paused.
“You think I stole Dad's money. I didn't.”
Another pause.
“Not exactly.”
Ramirez and I exchanged a glance.
Megan continued.
“I borrowed it.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I was going to replace it.”
“From what?” I asked the empty room.
The voicemail continued.
“Please don't let them arrest me before I explain.”
Then she said something unexpected.
“The money wasn't for the company.”
The message ended.
Nobody moved.
Ramirez asked, “Can you contact her?”
“I can try.”
“Don't tell her where you are.”
I called.
She answered on the second ring.
“Liam?”
“Where are you?”
She started crying.
“I can't tell you.”
“You need to.”
“I’m scared.”
“So is Dad.”
“I know.”
“You took his money.”
“I borrowed it.”
“You took it.”
“I was going to pay him back.”
“With what?”
Silence.
I heard traffic in the background.
“Where are you?”
“I’m near the marina.”
“Which marina?”
She didn't answer.
“Megan.”
“I need you to understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I wasn't trying to hurt anyone.”
“You applied for credit in my name.”
“I thought you'd approve it.”
“You never asked.”
“I knew you would say no.”
The honesty stunned me.
“Then you knew it was wrong.”
“I knew you'd stop me.”
“You used Dad’s money.”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then tell me.”
She started crying.
“I owed someone.”
“Who?”
She didn't answer.
“Megan.”
“I owed more than I could pay.”
“How much?”
“Forty-seven thousand.”
My eyes closed.
The spreadsheet total.
47,500.
“Who?”
“People who don't wait.”
My stomach tightened.
“Are you in danger?”
She whispered, “Yes.”
Ramirez immediately motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
I did.
“Where are you?” he asked.
Megan went silent.
“Who is with you?”
Nobody answered.
Then a male voice came through the phone.
“Who are you talking to?”
Megan gasped.
The line went dead.
Ramirez stood.
“Call her back.”
I did.
Straight to voicemail.
He was already moving toward the door.
“We need to locate her.”
Dad looked terrified.
“What happened?”
Ramirez answered carefully.
“We don't know yet.”
Kevin grabbed his jacket.
“I’m coming.”
Ramirez shook his head.
“No. Stay here.”
The station suddenly felt too small.
Megan had been stealing, lying, borrowing, manipulating.
But now there was another possibility.
Maybe she hadn't been acting alone.
And maybe the people she owed had been waiting for the money to arrive.
An hour later, detectives located her car.
It was parked near the marina.
The driver's door was unlocked.
Her phone was gone.
So was her bag.
But inside the car, detectives found something else.
A folder.
My name was written on the front.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Folder With My Name Contained a Plan for My Future That Made Megan’s Lies Look Smaller Than What She Had Actually Intended
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 6 of 20
