I Sent My Mother To The Defendant’s Seat

“Hello, may I speak to Mr. Mike Atkinson?”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Atkinson, the payment on a loan in your name is now past due. We need you to make the payment today.”

I assumed it was a scam and nearly hung up.

“You’ve got the wrong person. I’ve never taken out a loan.”

The caller paused.

“Your name is Mike Atkinson, and the Social Security number we have on file ends in 4712. Is that correct?”

My stomach dropped.

Those were the last four digits of my Social Security number.

“The number is mine, but I’m telling you, I never applied for any loan.”

“Mr. Atkinson, the loan was issued last September for 280,000 dollars, with a thirty-six-month repayment term.

“The agreement bears your signature. Eight installments have been paid, but this month’s payment is now overdue.”

I sat upright in bed.

“280,000 dollars? My signature? I’ve never even seen this agreement.”

“You may want to double-check the details. Our records show that the funds were deposited into a linked account. If you have questions, you can visit one of our branches to verify it.”

The call ended.

I stood barefoot on the floor. I could feel a chill spreading through my entire body.

280,000 dollars.

I took home less than four thousand dollars a month. It had taken me eight years to save enough to buy this small apartment.

I had never seen a cent of that money, much less spent it.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then, something occurred to me.

My Social Security card, old tax returns, and other important financial documents were all still in my mother’s filing cabinet.

Ever since I left for college, she had always said, “You’re forever misplacing things when you’re on your own. Let me keep the important documents safe for you.”

She had helped me with tax returns, insurance paperwork, and banking matters whenever documents were sent to my parents’ address.

I had grown used to letting her handle it all.

For twenty years, the arrangement had seemed perfectly normal.

I called my mother. The phone rang several times before she answered.

“Why are you calling so late?” she asked, sounding groggy and irritated.

“Mom, do you know anything about a loan taken out in my name?”

She fell silent.

I heard the sheets rustle as she shifted in bed, followed by my father murmuring, “Who is it?”

“What loan? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“280,000 dollars. It was taken out last September, and I’m listed as the borrower. Mom, where did the money go?”

“Duncan needed a little help with the cash flow for his business.”

“A little help? You call 280,000 dollars a little? Did I agree to any of this? Is that really my signature on the agreement?”

Mom immediately raised her voice.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Mike! Duncan is your brother. He needed money for his business, so we took out a loan in your name.

“What’s the big deal? You’re his older brother. Is it really too much to expect you to help him?”

I gripped the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

“You forged my signature.”

“What do you mean, forged? Don’t put it like that. We’re family! Your dad had someone sign your name for you, and he did it for the sake of this family!”

“Is that the only one?” I asked.

“The only what?”

“The only loan you’ve taken out in my name. Are there others I don’t know about?”

Mom hesitated for half a second.

“No. That’s all. Just the one loan.”

Just the one loan.

I stared at the streetlight outside. That brief hesitation told me more than her answer had.

I said nothing more and ended the call.

Mom called back, but I did not answer.

I booked a ride back to my apartment in the city.

It was already one in the morning when I arrived.

I did not turn on the lights. I sat on the couch and left the family group chat that had over twenty members.

Then, I scrolled through my contacts and found a name.

Simon Coulter. He was a practicing attorney who used to be my college roommate.

I sent him a message.

[Simon, I think I’m in trouble. Are you free tomorrow? I need to talk to you about a loan taken out in my name.]

After sending it, I placed my phone face down on the table without waiting for a reply.

It was nearly dawn before I finally drifted off.

In my dreams, Mom’s words kept echoing in my mind.

Just the one loan.