The disputed accounts were opened under my name and Social Security number, but David had used his own cell number and email address when setting them up. That was exactly why the alert popped up on his phone.
Nine days earlier, I had received a letter in the mail thanking me for applying for a $48,000 personal line of credit. I had never applied for one. When I pulled my credit report, I found two credit cards I didn’t recognize. One had racked up over $11,000 in charges. The purchases included major appliances, furniture, hardwood flooring, and bathroom fixtures.
I immediately froze my credit with the bureaus and contacted the banks. That morning, a fraud investigator warned me the accounts would be locked down before the end of the business day.
I redirected my paycheck because I knew David would panic the second the money stopped flowing.
“What transfer were you trying to make?” I asked.
He locked his phone screen.
“Nothing.” “The bank notification says otherwise.” “It’s none of your business.” “It became my business when someone illegally opened credit cards in my name.”
His expression shifted shiftily.
“What are you talking about?” “I know about the credit cards and the loan application, David.” “You’re just confused.” “I pulled my credit report.” “We’re married. Spouses apply for things together all the time.” “I never consented to any of it.” “You must have just forgotten.” “Then why did you use your own email address?”
He had no answer to that.
I carried Lily back into the nursery and gently placed her in her crib.
The baby monitor camera sat on a high shelf above the doorway. I had moved it up there a few months earlier when Lily first learned to pull herself up. From that vantage point, it captured the crib, the doorway, and a good chunk of the hallway. It also automatically saved video clips to the cloud whenever it detected loud noises.
David’s shouting had already triggered it.
When I walked back into the living room, he was on the phone with Susan.
“She knows about the credit cards,” he muttered quietly.
Her voice carried through the earpiece.
“How?” “I don’t know.” “You promised me she never looked at the bank statements.”
David quickly hung up. I just stared at him.
“She knew.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” “Then explain the thousands in charges.” “We were making a real estate investment.” “Using my stolen identity?” “It was for the family.” “You mean the condo on Elm Street?”
His face completely dropped.
Susan had purchased that condominium under her own name six months prior. The fraudulent credit card charges perfectly matched its ongoing renovation. Flooring. Kitchen appliances. Furniture. Bathroom fixtures.
I had unknowingly been footing the bill for almost all of it. I had also stumbled upon iMessages on the iPad David and I shared. In one thread, he wrote:
If Claire gets that promotion, we can finish the place without touching our savings.
Susan replied:
Just make sure she doesn’t start asking too many questions.
“You snooped through my messages,” he accused. “You fraudulently created debt in my name.” “We were planning to pay it all back with the rental income.” “From a property your mother solely owns?” “She was going to cut me in for a share.” “And what exactly was I supposed to get out of this?” “You would have benefited eventually, too.” “How?”
He just looked away.
“And where has your paycheck been going this whole time?” I demanded. “That’s not relevant right now.” “It’s the one thing you absolutely refuse to explain.”
He stepped closer to me.
“Give me the new debit card.” “No.” “Claire.” “No.” “I’m not going to ask you again.” “Then stop asking.”
His hand shot forward. His fingers violently tangled in my hair, pulling hard enough to send a sharp wave of pain across my scalp.
For a split second, I froze. Not because of the physical pain. It was because of the look on his face. He fully expected me to just surrender.
“Let go of me right now.” “Call the bank and lift the fraud alert.” “Let me go.” “Fix the damn accounts.” “Don’t you ever touch me again.”
Something cold and absolute in my voice caught him off guard. I violently twisted away. Several strands of my hair were left trapped between his fingers.
Behind the nursery door, Lily began to cry. That sound instantly cleared the fog from my mind. I backed into the hallway bathroom and quickly locked the door.
