Chapter 8: The Sixth Application
I called the financial institution at 8:05 Monday morning.
The first representative transferred me to the fraud department. The second asked me to verify my identity. The third put me on hold for nearly twenty minutes.
I sat at my desk with a notebook open, writing down names and reference numbers while my coffee cooled beside me.
Finally, a representative named Angela came on the line.
“I understand you're questioning an application inquiry on your credit report,” she said.
“Yes. I didn't submit an application, and I don't recognize the email address associated with it.””
“I can see a preliminary application dated September third. It was not approved.””
“Was it submitted using my Social Security number?””
Angela paused.
“I can confirm that the application was associated with your identity information.””
“Who submitted it?””
“I can't identify the individual responsible based solely on the information available to me during this call. I can, however, record this as a suspected fraudulent application and provide the reference number for your records.””
I wrote it down.
“Was the application connected to any of the other five accounts I've disputed?””
“I can't confirm a connection at this stage.””
“Can you tell me whether any funds were issued?””
“No funds were issued through this application.””
I exhaled.
At least there was no sixth loan to add to the pile.
But someone had tried.
“Please open a fraud report,” I said.
Angela explained the process, gave me the reference number, and told me how to submit supporting documents.
When we finished, I emailed the information to the investigator.
Then I sent Melissa a message.
There was an attempted sixth application on September 3. Do you know anything about it?
She called me instead of replying.
“I didn't do that one.””
I stood and walked to the empty conference room.
“Are you sure?””
“Yes.””
“Did David ask you to open another account?””
“No.””
“Did he ask you to provide any additional information?””
“Not after August.””
“Then who submitted it?””
“I don't know, Emily!””
I listened to her breathing.
“Melissa, I need you to be completely honest with me. Did you give anyone else my documents?””
“No.””
“Did you upload them to any website?””
“No.””
“Did you send them to David?””
She hesitated.
“I sent him the files I had.””
“When?””
“In April.””
“Did you ever ask him to delete them?””
“No.””
I pressed my hand against the wall.
“Then we don't know who attempted the sixth application. That's exactly why I need you to preserve everything and cooperate with the investigation.””
“Do you think David did it?””
“I don't know.””
“But you think he could have.””
“I think we need evidence before we make accusations.””
She went quiet.
Then she said, “I found the transfer.””
“What transfer?””
“The one from the last loan to his company.””
“Send it to the investigator.””
“I will.””
“Today, Melissa.””
“I said I will!””
Her frustration flashed through the phone.
Then, more quietly, she added, “I'm scared.””
I leaned against the wall.
“So am I.””
“What happens if they decide I helped him?””
“You've already admitted you helped open the accounts.””
“I know.””
“Then you need to tell the truth and get appropriate legal advice.””
She sniffed.
“Would you come with me?””
I closed my eyes.
“No.””
“Emily—”
“I can't be your support person through an investigation into something you did to me.””
She didn't respond.
“I hope you get the help you need,” I continued.
“But I can't do that for you.””
We hung up.
I returned to my desk and tried to work, but my thoughts kept circling the same question.
Who had submitted the sixth application?
David had the documents.
Melissa had the documents.
Both had motive to conceal what they'd done.
But I wasn't going to decide who was responsible simply because one explanation felt more satisfying than another.
At noon, I met with my manager and explained that I was dealing with a serious identity theft issue. I didn't share the family details, but I asked whether I could take time off for any necessary appointments.
Robert listened without interrupting.
“Take whatever time you need,” he said.
“We'll cover the meetings.””
“Thank you.””
“And Emily?””
I looked up.
“Don't feel like you have to prove you're fine just because you're usually the person who has everything under control.””
The words nearly undid me.
I nodded and returned to my desk.
That afternoon, I received a message from Mom.
David has asked me to meet with him tonight. He says he can explain the accounts.
I called her immediately.
“Don't sign anything.””
“I won't.””
“Don't agree to anything. Just listen if you want to, and if he gives you documents, keep copies.””
“Are you sure I shouldn't bring you?””
“Yes.””
She sighed.
“I wish you would come.””
“Mom, I can't be in the middle of another conversation where everyone wants me to accept an explanation before I've seen the evidence.””
“I understand.””
“Please be careful.””
“I will.””
They met at a restaurant near Mom's house. She told me later that David arrived with a folder and ordered coffee before she'd even sat down.
He began by insisting that the entire situation had been misunderstood.
According to Mom, he said he'd been trying to help Melissa avoid bankruptcy and that using my information had been a temporary solution.
When Mom asked why I hadn't been told, he said I was too rigid about money and would have refused to help.
When she asked why my name appeared on the applications, he said the lenders had required a financially stable applicant.
When she asked whether he had received any of the money, he said he had been reimbursed for expenses.
“Which expenses?”” Mom had asked.
He hadn't provided a clear answer.
Then he'd slid a document across the table.
It was a statement acknowledging that Melissa had requested financial assistance and that David had acted as an intermediary.
Mom refused to sign it.
She told him she wanted a lawyer to review anything involving the fraudulent accounts.
David had become angry.
He accused her of betraying him after everything he'd done for the family.
Mom had gathered her purse and left.
When she finished telling me the story, I sat in silence.
“Did he give you the document?”” I asked.
“Yes. I took it with me.””
“Please send me a photograph, and give the original to the investigator.””
“I will.””
Then Mom said, “He told me something else.””
“What?””
“He said you were going to lose more than your credit if you continued with the investigation.””
My throat tightened.
“Did he explain what he meant?””
“No. He said I should convince you to stop before things got ugly.””
I stared at the wall.
“Mom, that's not a reason to stop.””
“I know.””
“It's a reason to make sure everything is documented.””
“I know, sweetheart.””
For the first time, she sounded less like a mother trying to keep her daughters from fighting and more like someone who had finally understood that silence could be dangerous.
That evening, I reviewed the document Mom had photographed.
It contained broad language about financial assistance, reimbursement, and the parties' understanding of the arrangement. It did not resolve the central questions about the five accounts or establish that I had authorized anything.
I sent it to the investigator with a note explaining that Mom had refused to sign it.
Then I went through my own financial records.
My savings account was intact. My checking account showed no unexplained withdrawals. I changed my passwords again and confirmed that my credit freezes remained in place.
I also checked the email account Melissa had once used to communicate with me about moving expenses.
There was nothing unusual in the messages I could access.
But I remembered something.
When Melissa moved into her old apartment, she'd asked me to email her copies of several documents because she said her phone scanner wasn't working. I'd sent the files as attachments, then forgotten about them.
I searched my sent folder.
The emails were still there.
One contained a copy of my identification.
Another contained a bank statement I'd downloaded to prove my income for a rental application. I had been helping Melissa compare apartments, and she'd asked me to show her what landlords typically requested from tenants.
I'd sent it without thinking.
The statement included my full name, the name of my bank, and the last four digits of an account number.
It didn't contain my Social Security number, but it was more information than I'd remembered sharing.
I forwarded the emails to the investigator and noted the dates.
Then I called Melissa.
“Did you still have the documents I sent you when you moved?””
“Yes.””
“Did you give David copies?””
“I told you I did.””
“Did you send them to anyone else?””
“No.””
“Did you upload them anywhere?””
“No.””
I took a breath.
“Melissa, I found the email where I sent you my bank statement.””
She was quiet.
“I forgot I had sent it.””
“I didn't.””
The words were soft, but they hurt.
“I trusted you,” I said.
“I know.””
“No, I don't think you do. I trusted you enough to send you financial documents because I thought you needed help. You took that trust and turned it into a way to borrow money in my name.””
She began crying.
“I never thought you'd get hurt like this.””
“You knew the loans were in my name.””
“I thought we'd pay them.””
“Who is we?””
She didn't answer.
I ended the call.
The following morning, the investigator contacted me to schedule an interview. She asked me to bring my records and any communications that might be relevant.
I agreed.
For the first time since the collection letter arrived, I felt that something was moving forward.
Not quickly.
Not cleanly.
But forward.
I spent the next two evenings organizing my evidence chronologically. I printed the collection letter, the credit reports, the account applications, the screenshots, and the messages from David. I labeled each document and wrote a short note explaining how I'd obtained it.
I kept my opinions separate from the facts.
I didn't write that David was guilty of every suspicious transaction.
I wrote what he had said.
I didn't write that Melissa had stolen every dollar for herself.
I wrote what she'd admitted.
It was tedious work, but it helped me feel less helpless.
On Wednesday afternoon, Melissa called.
“I'm at a lawyer's office,” she said.
I stopped typing.
“Okay.””
“He says I need to be honest about everything I did.””
“That's good.””
“He also says I shouldn't make statements about David without evidence.””
“That's fair.””
She took a shaky breath.
“I've been thinking about what you said.””
“Which part?””
“That I keep asking you to protect me.””
I said nothing.
“I know I did that. I kept thinking that if I could just get you to wait, everything would somehow go away.””
“It's not going away.””
“I know.””
Her voice cracked.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.””
I stared at the screen.
“Then what do you expect?””
“I don't know. I guess I wanted you to know that I'm not going to ask you to stop the investigation anymore.””
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
“Thank you,” I finally replied.
She began crying quietly.
“I wish I'd never listened to him.””
“You had choices, Melissa.””
“I know.””
“You could have come to me. You could have gone to a debt counselor. You could have told the truth after the first account.””
“I know.””
I let the silence sit between us.
Then she said, “There's one more thing I need to tell you.””
I closed my eyes.
“What now?””
“The sixth application.””
My pulse quickened.
“What about it?””
“David asked me about it in September. He wanted to know whether your credit was still frozen.””
I sat perfectly still.
“Did you tell him?””
“No. I didn't know you'd frozen it yet.””
“Why was he asking?””
“He said he needed to know whether there was still a way to get additional financing.””
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“Did he tell you he was submitting an application?””
“No.””
“Did he say what the money was for?””
She hesitated.
“He said the company was running out of time.””
“What company?””
“His company.””
I looked at the date on my notes.
September 3.
The attempted sixth application had been submitted that day.
“Melissa, did you see the application?””
“No.””
“Did you see any documents?””
“No.””
“Then I need you to tell the investigator exactly what you've told me.””
“I will.””
We hung up.
I immediately documented the conversation and sent the information to the investigator.
The next morning, she called me.
“We've received additional information from the financial institution,” she said.
“I can't discuss every detail of the review, but I need to ask you something about the September application.””
I sat up straighter.
“What?””
“Did you ever authorize anyone to apply for business financing on your behalf?””
“No.””
“Did you authorize your uncle to use your credit profile as part of a business transaction?””
“No.””
She paused.
“That's consistent with what you've reported. We'll need to verify the remaining details.””
“Can you tell me what the application was for?””
“I can tell you it appears to have involved a business financing request rather than a standard personal loan.””
My stomach dropped.
“Was my information used to support the application?””
“That is one of the questions we're examining.””
I swallowed.
“Does the company belong to David?””
“I can't confirm that during this call.””
After we hung up, I sat staring at my phone.
The first five accounts had been presented as a way to help Melissa.
But the sixth application suggested that my credit might have been useful for something else entirely.
Something involving David's business.
I opened the spreadsheet again and looked at the transfers to his company.
May you like
For the first time, the pattern seemed larger than my sister's debt.
And I began to wonder whether Melissa had been the reason they started using my identity—or simply the person they expected me to blame.
