By sunrise, my apartment no longer felt like mine.
Every object looked suspicious.
The smoke detector.
The lamp.
The charging brick beside the couch.
Even the framed picture of my father on the bookshelf seemed capable of hiding something.
Jess stood in the middle of the living room holding a broom like a weapon.
“I’m going to say something I never thought I’d say.”
“What?”
“I preferred the cheating.”
“Same.”
My phone sat on the kitchen counter.
Adrien’s last message glowed on the screen.
Whatever Marcus put in your apartment isn’t the only thing watching him.
I called him.
It rang once.
“Lena.”
That voice.
Low.
Calm.
Exactly as I remembered from Ambrosia.
“You’ve been watching Marcus?”
“Not personally.”
“That’s not better.”
“No.”
“Why?”
A short silence.
“Because Marcus Bell has been moving money that belongs to people who notice missing money.”
I swallowed.
“Your money?”
“Some of it.”
I stared at Jess.
She mouthed, What is he saying?
I put the call on speaker.
“Start over.”
Adrien did.
Marcus worked as a senior accounts manager for a logistics consulting company. At least, that was what I believed.
What I didn’t know was that his company handled subcontracting work for several international shipping firms, including two connected to Voss Import Holdings.
During the previous year, irregular transfers had appeared.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
Invoices duplicated.
Vendors that didn’t exist.
Payments rerouted through intermediary accounts.
Adrien’s people started investigating.
Marcus’s name appeared repeatedly.
“So you think Marcus stole from you?”
“I think Marcus helped someone steal from several people.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
Another pause.
“Because some of the people who lost money would prefer not to explain where all of it came from.”
Jess closed her eyes.
“Wonderful.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
My stomach twisted.
Adrien continued.
“Six months ago Marcus copied your apartment key. Around the same time, one of the missing transfers passed through an account connected to this building.”
I stared at the floor.
“This building?”
“Yes.”
“Whose account?”
“Yours.”
The room tilted.
“No.”
“Lena—”
“No. I have one checking account, a retirement account, and a savings account currently being murdered by my mother’s medical bills. I am not laundering money.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then explain.”
“Someone opened an account using your identity.”
I stopped breathing.
Jess lowered the broom.
“What?”
Adrien’s voice remained controlled.
“The account was created nine months ago. Your name. Your Social Security number. An old mailing address. Several transfers passed through it.”
I sat down slowly.
Marcus knew all of those things.
Of course he did.
Seven years.
Seven years meant birthdays, tax returns, emergency forms, shared passwords, insurance documents.
Seven years meant trust.
“I need proof.”
“You’ll have it.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“Then come downstairs.”
I looked toward the window.
“What?”
“There’s a black sedan across the street.”
Jess rushed to the curtain.
“Absolutely not.”
I joined her.
Sure enough, a black sedan sat beside the curb.
A man in a gray suit stood beside it.
Not Adrien.
“Who is that?”
“Daniel. He works for me. He has a folder for you.”
“I’m not getting into a stranger’s car.”
“You shouldn’t.”
I blinked.
“That was surprisingly reasonable.”
“Take the folder. Go back upstairs. The car will leave.”
Jess crossed her arms.
“This is how every crime documentary begins.”
Adrien apparently heard her.
“Jessica Nguyen?”
Jess went pale.
“Why does he know my full name?”
“Because I know who is standing beside the woman I’m trying to keep alive.”
The room became very quiet.
I hated the sentence.
Not because it sounded threatening.
Because it sounded sincere.
We went downstairs together.
Daniel handed me a sealed envelope.
No conversation.
No threats.
Then he got back into the sedan and drove away.
Inside the envelope were bank records.
My name.
My information.
Transactions totaling $186,000.
My hands started shaking.
“That bastard,” Jess whispered.
The worst part wasn’t the money.
It was the signature.
Someone had signed my name.
Not perfectly.
But close enough.
I had watched Marcus imitate that signature dozens of times as a joke.
Signing birthday cards.
Restaurant receipts.
Packages.
“Look.”
Jess pointed at one transfer.
Forty-two thousand dollars.
Sent the same week Marcus told me he was taking a “work trip” to Boston.
Another transaction happened the day my mother entered the hospital.
Tuesday.
$28,000.
Transferred at 8:31 p.m.
Fifteen minutes before Marcus’s hotel photograph with Briana.
I called Adrien again.
“You knew all of this before I texted you.”
“I knew some of it.”
“So our meeting at Ambrosia wasn’t accidental?”
“It was.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to question everything.”
That answer bothered me because it was exactly what a trustworthy person would say.
Or exactly what a very intelligent liar would say.
“What do you want from me?”
“The same thing you want.”
“What’s that?”
“To know what Marcus is hiding.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Jess jumped.
I froze.
Three sharp knocks.
Then Marcus’s voice.
“Lena?”
My blood went cold.
Adrien heard it through the phone.
“Do not answer.”
Marcus knocked again.
“I know you’re in there.”
Jess whispered, “Call the police.”
I started dialing.
Then Marcus said something that stopped my thumb.
“I know Mom’s at Johns Hopkins.”
Not your mom.
Mom.
He had always called her that.
I stepped closer to the door.
“Leave.”
His voice softened.
“Lena, I screwed up. I know that.”
“You committed identity theft.”
Silence.
That was confirmation enough.
“Who told you?”
I laughed without humor.
“You’re worried about that?”
“I can explain.”
“Explain the account.”
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then help me.”
His voice dropped.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
Then his tone changed.
The sweetness disappeared.
“Lena.”
One word.
I had heard that version before.
At restaurants.
In taxis.
Arguments where Marcus wanted me to stop talking.
It used to make me back down.
Not anymore.
“Leave.”
“You are getting involved with people you know nothing about.”
“Interesting advice from someone who stole my identity.”
“I did that to protect you.”
Jess silently mouthed, Oh, please.
I almost laughed.
Then Marcus said, “If you keep talking to Voss, your mother could get hurt.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What did you say?”
Silence.
Then Marcus seemed to realize he had crossed a line.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Say it again.”
“I’m saying these people are dangerous.”
“No. You said my mother could get hurt.”
“Lena—”
“Are you threatening my mother?”
“No.”
Adrien’s voice came quietly through my phone.
“Keep him talking.”
Marcus couldn’t hear.
I asked, “Who else knows where my mother is?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me.
“Marcus?”
“You told people.”
“I told you.”
“And Jess.”
“Who else?”
Another pause.
Then I heard a metallic sound outside.
Marcus touching the doorknob.
He tried the lock.
Once.
Twice.
Then there was a faint scrape.
The copied key.
Jess backed away.
I whispered into the phone, “He’s trying to get in.”
Adrien’s voice changed.
Not louder.
Colder.
“Move away from the door.”
The lock turned halfway.
Then stopped.
The new deadbolt Jess and I had installed at seven that morning held.
Marcus cursed.
From the phone, Adrien said, “My people are thirty seconds away.”
Marcus tried again.
Then the elevator dinged.
He stopped.
Footsteps.
A familiar calm voice from the hallway.
Daniel.
“Mr. Bell.”
Marcus swore.
“What, Voss has you babysitting her now?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Mr. Voss asked us to remind you about boundaries.”
“Tell Voss Lena isn’t his.”
Daniel replied, “I don’t think anyone said she was.”
Something about that response settled me.
There was no ownership.
No macho claim.
Just a boundary.
Mine.
Marcus left.
An hour later, police took my statement about the identity theft and attempted entry.
The tiny device behind my television was bagged as evidence.
It was a camera.
A hidden camera.
Installed months earlier.
But the biggest shock came that afternoon.
A detective called.
The camera wasn’t transmitting to Marcus’s phone.
It had been uploading footage to a remote server.
And someone had accessed that server forty-seven times in the previous month.
The login location wasn’t Marcus’s office.
It wasn’t Briana’s hotel.
It wasn’t even New York.
The login originated from Baltimore.
Near Johns Hopkins Hospital.
Near my mother.
I stared at the detective’s email until the letters blurred.
Then my phone buzzed.
Adrien.
There’s something else you need to hear.
An audio file appeared.
I pressed play.
Marcus’s voice filled my kitchen.
“If Lena gets difficult, use the mother. She’ll do anything for her.”
Then a second voice answered.
A voice I recognized instantly.
A voice that had been inside my family for years.
I dropped the phone.
Because the person speaking to Marcus wasn’t Briana.
It was someone much closer to me.
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