Chapter 8 - The Phantom Account
The pink slip of paper fluttered slightly in the cold wind, the printed bank letterhead clearly displaying the logo of a national financial institution Marcus had never so much as walked past. He stared at the account number listed at the top, his mind racing to find any explanation for how a twenty-thousand-dollar balance could exist under his name and social security number without his knowledge.
“Where did you get this?” Marcus demanded, taking a half-step forward, his hands opening and closing at his sides.
Nia smirked, folding the paper and tucking it securely back into her pocket. “Does it matter where I got it? The court has already subpoenaed the bank records. It proves you haven't been as honest about our finances as you always pretended to be, Marcus. You’ve been stashing money away for a rainy day while I had to scrape together pennies to keep the lights on.”
“I have never seen that account in my life,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, stony calm. “Someone opened it using my identity, and I have a strong feeling I know exactly who had access to my tax returns and my old employment files.” He turned his sharp gaze toward Brenda’s open doorway, where Julian was suddenly visible standing in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee.
Julian froze, the mug halfway to his mouth, as he realized Marcus was staring directly at him through the screen door.
“Julian,” Marcus called out, his voice cutting through the chill. “Did you use my social security number to open a secondary line of credit when you bought your second delivery van last year?”
Julian slammed the mug down on the counter so hard that coffee sloshed over the rim. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and stomped out onto the porch, his face flushed with a defensive anger that mirrored his mother’s. “Man, get out of here with that accusation! You think just because you pay the bills in this family you get to play detective and blame everyone else for your own shady paper trail?”
“Marcus,” Brenda interrupted, stepping between them with a stern glare. “You’re not going to stand on my porch and harass my nephew over wild accusations. If you have a legal problem with my sister, take it to a judge, but leave my house out of it.”
Ava stepped up beside Marcus, her voice surprisingly steady for a sixteen-year-old caught in the middle of a war between adults. “Mom, if that account is real, why does the signature card have Julian’s handwriting style instead of Dad’s?”
Nia’s expression flickered for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Marcus to catch the micro-expression of absolute panic before she masked it with a sneer.
“Shut up, Ava,” Nia snapped. “You don't know anything about adult business.”
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Marcus reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen twice. “I don't need to argue with any of you anymore,” Marcus said quietly, holding the phone up to show an active video call recording. “I just recorded every word of that admission, and I’m sending it straight to the fraud investigator right now.”
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