That was the unsettling part.

It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t obviously copied.

It looked like mine. Rebecca asked where my parents could have obtained a clean copy of my signature. I immediately knew.

Two years earlier, after my mother underwent surgery, I signed several hospital authorization forms while helping coordinate her recovery. My father kept copies. Rebecca contacted the lender’s fraud department that afternoon.

By 5 P.M., the scheduled meeting for the following morning had been canceled.

My parents did not know that yet. I didn’t call them.

Instead, Rebecca arranged for us to meet the lender’s representative and a fraud investigator at the office complex itself.

The following morning, my parents arrived expecting me to cooperate.

Amanda came too.

She entered the conference room wearing sunglasses and carrying a handbag worth more than my monthly mortgage payment. My father stopped when he noticed Rebecca. “What is she doing here?”

“Protecting me.” My mother slowly sat down. Amanda looked annoyed. “This is ridiculous. We’re family.”