When I returned with a hammer, Trevor raised his phone to record me, grinning. “Go ahead. Show everyone how crazy you are.”
I struck the lock once.
Metal snapped against stainless steel.
I hit it again, and the padlock dropped onto the tile.
Lorraine shrieked.
I set the hammer on the counter and looked at all three of them.
“This is my notice.”
Trevor laughed. Daniel looked embarrassed. Lorraine looked almost pleased, as though my anger proved she had finally broken me.
None of them knew I had received a credit alert at lunch.
Someone had applied for a $48,000 personal loan in my name.
And the application had come from my home Wi-Fi…
I didn’t accuse anyone that night.
That confused them more than shouting would have.
I ate leftover pasta straight from the container, washed my fork, and went upstairs while Lorraine announced that I was “unstable.”
Through the bedroom door, I heard Trevor laughing.
“She’ll apologize tomorrow.”
Daniel answered, “Just give her time.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my laptop.
I worked in financial risk for a regional bank. For eleven years, I had traced fraud patterns people believed were invisible.
The loan application was clumsy.
My Social Security number was correct.
My salary was almost accurate.
The applicant used an old phone number and listed “home renovation” as the purpose.
Then I found the more important clue.
