Identity Fraud Map นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I said, my voice carefully even despite everything churning beneath it. We reconvened at Patricia's apartment the moment he was safely out of sight, Hayes joining us via video call, her expression grim as she laid out what her team had uncovered. "His real name is Gerald Voss," she said. "Extensive history of identity-based fraud schemes, primarily targeting people involved in adoption reunions and long-lost family searches. He's incredibly good at what he does — thorough research, patient relationship building, always targeting the emotional vulnerability of people desperate to find genuine family connection."

God knows I tried. The woman at the state aid desk barely looked up from her screen when I finally told her my name. Her fingers froze over the keyboard, and then she looked up at me like I'd grown a second head. "I'm sorry," she said. "Your file's been flagged. There's a legal hold on your identity, some fraud claim I think.” She lowered her voice like it might soften the blow. "I can't process anything under this name while that's going on. I'm sorry."

When he saw my confused expression, he couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, my bad. I'm Isahiah, Jayden's best friend and business partner, and I think we need to talk," he said, getting serious all of a sudden. When I heard his name, I suddenly remembered that Jayden talked about his best friend Isahiah, the one who told him to unwind before his flight to Macau, the night when I abducted him. Based on the tone of his voice, I'm guessing that he knows something about Jayden, so I agree to follow him back to the office.

“Did you or did you not open an account at Banco Sabadell in June?” “No. I’ve never banked with Sabadell…” “Your signature is on the application.” He shows me the document. It’s my signature, my handwriting, my identification documents. “But I didn’t sign this…” “Then someone forged it. Someone with access to your personal information and identification. Someone like your father.” Marina is flipping through pages. “This is identity fraud. My client is a victim…” “Or a co-conspirator who is now claiming ignorance because her father conveniently died before he could testify.”

“Ms. Garcia—” “Office address. Government ID. Employment verification. Relevant criminal background checks. That’s enough.” “Residential addresses are required for a full-spectrum risk assessment.” “Not for florists, production leads, or legal counsel whose jobs are to choose cable routes and make sure the bride’s grandmother doesn’t fall into the pool.” “Residential verification reduces the risk of identity fraud,” Rafael finally said. “So do government ID and employment verification.” “Not always.”

But someone existed. Nadia was already opening a second browser window. “Regional papers from that era often kept separate advertising books,” she said. “Obituaries, announcements, classified ads—everything was billed.” Marcus leaned forward. “Even if the name was fake?” “Maybe,” Nadia replied. “But payments leave patterns. Addresses. Telephone numbers. Account references. Handwriting.” Felix nodded. “A false identity can hide a person. It rarely hides every transaction.” For the first time since the newspaper appeared, the mystery felt reachable.

"Tell me exactly what it’s trying to do, or I’m going to throw this tablet through that window right now." Pim stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the mahogany desk, her knuckles white. "It’s not just monitoring. It’s preemptive removal. Look at the ‘Audit’ column. The people whose accounts we supposedly 'helped' crash—the rivals Mother wanted us to eliminate—their personal data wasn't just deleted. It was erased from the civic registry. Bank accounts, criminal records, birth certificates—it wiped them from the government database. It’s not just destroying their businesses. It’s liquidating their identities."

My biometric profile. Except The timestamp read: Created 11 days ago. And the ID tag read: Jamal-02. I stared. “…What is that?” Layla folded her arms. “A perfect copy. Well perfect enough.” “No. No, I would know” “Would you?” She cocked a brow. “Because I’m not sure you even know which one you are.” Something inside me twisted. I stepped closer to the screen, reading the data. Neurological mapping. Cognitive layering. Memory grafts.

They brought me some soup and it smells good but I'm scared. Hamish's feeling increased even more. He had heard this voice before somewhere. And the woman's voice soothed his troubled mind. * What if they put drugs in the soup? I may be living my last moments in freedom or even alive...* She blurted out in a whisper. Hamish smiles despite the urgency of the young woman's situation... * You have to help me. I sent you information about them on your I*******m page and I managed to take a photo of them so if I disappear you will know where I am... Sorry... Sorry to bother you but I need of you.*

That wasn’t a building number, it was a code. Without wasting another second, she yanked her phone from her back pocket, hands trembling slightly as she opened her notes app and began typing the digits. Then she paused. Instead of treating it like an address, she typed the number as a passcode, a numerical keyword used in the encrypted map app she’d once used with her contact, back when things were still quiet. The moment she hit enter, a hidden address flashed onto her screen: “The Underpass, Old Dock Road, Sector 9.”