Chapter 3

That night, my cousin Kristin Atkinson sent me a message.

She worked as a loan officer at a bank in the city. We had been close since childhood.

“Mike, have you been asking questions about a loan in your name?”

I paused.

“How did you know?”

“Your account was flagged for review at my bank. Mike, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I was afraid you might overthink it.”

My heart sank.

“Tell me.”

“Last month, Aunt Laura came into my branch with your Social Security card and some documents for your condo. She wanted to take out a loan against the property in your name.

“I happened to be in the lobby and recognized her.

“I told her she couldn’t move forward without you there in person, and she’d need your ID and signature. That’s what stopped it.”

I stared at my phone, unable to respond.

My condo.

The only thing I truly owned, bought with eight years of savings.

Only a month ago, my mother had tried to use it as collateral without telling me.

“Mike, are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“At first, I thought Aunt Laura was just dropping off some paperwork for you. But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made.

“If you were the one applying, how could you know nothing about it? Mike, is something going on with your family?”

I briefly told Kristin everything that had happened over the past month.

She was silent for a long time.

“Mike, I need to be honest with you.” Her voice sounded strained.

“Over the years, whenever you sent money home or Aunt Laura managed to get something approved using your information, she would brag about it in the extended family group chat.

“She used to say you were Duncan’s cash cow.”

His cash cow.

That phrase hurt more than the 2,030,000 dollars ever could.

After the call ended, I opened the photo gallery on my phone and found a picture from many years ago.

I was ten. Duncan was four.

It was Christmas. My family had bought us both winter coats.

Duncan’s was a brand-new, brown puffer jacket.

Mine was an old coat my older cousin had outgrown, its cuffs worn smooth and shiny.

Mom stroked Duncan’s hair and said, “Mike is old enough to understand. He knows his little brother comes first.”

Back then, I truly believed her.

I thought being understanding was a virtue.

It was only much later that I realized what my mother meant whenever she praised me for being “understanding.” She meant I was the one who was expected to go without.

I took out student loans to put myself through college, then sent whatever I could scrape together from my living expenses back home to pay for Duncan’s tutoring.

I spent my entire first annual bonus on Duncan’s first car.

Every month, without fail, I sent my parents 3,000 dollars. They said they were putting it aside to help Duncan get married and start a life of his own.

I thought I was simply doing my duty as an older brother.

I finally understood that it had never been about duty.

I was the family bank.

I had never known just how much they had taken from me.

The next day, I closed the checking account I used for everyday expenses and opened a new one with a different account number and new online banking credentials.

I reported my state-issued ID stolen, had the old one invalidated, and obtained a replacement.

I contacted the fraud departments at all three banks involved.

I asked them to freeze every account opened in my name without my knowledge, and disputed every loan application, personal guarantee, and credit inquiry I had never authorized.

Simon was right. Before I could go any further, I had to close off every avenue they could still use to exploit my identity.

After taking care of everything, I called Dad.

Mom had been bombarding me with calls for the past two days. I had not answered any.

Dad picked up.

“Mike...” He sounded exhausted.

“Dad, there are three names on the deed to that condo. Yours, Mom’s, and Duncan’s.”

Silence filled the other end of the line.

“I’m a co-signer on the mortgage. If you stop making the payments, the bank will come after me. But my name isn’t on the deed.”

“Mike, it... It was your mom’s idea. I didn’t find out until later…”

“But you signed the papers too,” I cut in. “As for those loan documents in my name, did you have someone forge my signature?”

Dad fell silent.

That silence told me more than a confession ever could.

“Dad,” I said, “I’m not going to argue this out with you. I’m getting a lawyer and taking legal action.”

“You’re going to take your own family to court?” Dad’s voice trembled. “What will people say about us when word gets out?”

“When you put more than 2,000,000 dollars of debt in my name, you certainly weren’t worried about what people would say.”

I hung up.

That night, Mom sent me dozens of voice messages. First, she cursed me, then she cried, then she went right back to cursing me.

I read her last text.

[Mike, you ungrateful brat. After everything we’ve done for you, this is the thanks we get?]

Everything they had done for me.

I stared at those words and scoffed.

What had they ever done for me?

Growing up, Duncan always got the best of everything. I got whatever was left.