Chapter 5 - The Apartment in My Name
I had never lived in Cincinnati.
Not for one night.
Not for one week.
Not for one hour.
Yet by Monday morning, Ethan and I were standing in the leasing office of a Cincinnati apartment complex while a property manager stared at my driver’s license.
“You’re Sophie Pard?”
“Yes.”
She frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
My heart began pounding.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve met Sophie Pard.”
Ethan and I looked at each other.
The manager introduced herself as Melissa.
She disappeared into a back office and returned with a paper file.
“I shouldn’t be showing you confidential tenancy records without verification.”
“I am the person whose identity is on them.”
“That’s why this is complicated.”
She copied my license.
Then placed a lease on the desk.
Tenant:
Sophie Marie Pard.
Date of birth:
Mine.
Employer:
Riverside Women’s Hospital.
Mine.
Emergency contact:
Roger Pard.
My father.
The signature was a passable imitation of mine.
But the photograph attached to the rental application was not me.
It was Paige.
I stared at my sister’s face.
Hair longer.
Makeup heavier.
Smiling into the camera while holding identification.
“Is that the woman you met?” Ethan asked.
Melissa nodded.
“Yes.”
I couldn’t speak.
My own sister had rented an apartment under my identity.
Melissa looked horrified.
“She told us she worked nights in Columbus and needed the unit because she was splitting time between cities.”
I finally found my voice.
“Who paid?”
“Most payments came from a business account.”
“Pard Restoration?”
She checked.
“Yes.”
The last three payments had bounced.
Of course they had.
“What happened in the apartment?”
Melissa hesitated.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Was Paige living there?”
“I assumed she was.”
“Anyone else?”
“Your father visited often.”
My stomach tightened.
“How often?”
“I don’t monitor tenants.”
“Please.”
Melissa softened.
“He picked up packages.”
“And Denise Morgan?”
Her eyes flickered.
That was enough.
“You know her.”
“She visited twice.”
I looked at Ethan.
The apartment was not random.
It was part of the system.
Dad had used my identity to rent a place.
Paige had participated.
Denise had been there.
I called Paige from the parking lot.
This time she answered immediately.
“You went to Cincinnati?”
I skipped hello.
She exhaled.
“You found the apartment.”
“Why was it in my name?”
“I can explain.”
“Start.”
“Dad couldn’t qualify.”
“So you used me?”
“He said it was temporary.”
“Why didn’t you put it in your name?”
“My credit was bad.”
“Because of Dad’s cards?”
“At first.”
That phrase again.
“What else?”
“I had debt.”
“How much?”
“More than I told you.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-eight thousand.”
My chest tightened.
“From what?”
“Everything.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Cards. Personal loans. Shopping.”
“Why did Dad pay for the apartment?”
“I was helping him.”
“With Denise?”
Silence.
“Paige.”
“I didn’t know she was his girlfriend.”
“What did you think?”
“He told me she was an investor.”
I almost believed her.
Almost.
“Then why did you tell me Dad had a mess that needed cleaning up?”
“Because eventually I figured it out.”
“When?”
“Last Christmas.”
Eight months earlier.
“You knew for eight months.”
“I suspected.”
“Did Mom know?”
“No.”
“Then why was she demanding eighty thousand?”
“Dad told her the business debt was because of me.”
That landed differently.
“What?”
“He told Mom he borrowed money to keep me from bankruptcy.”
I leaned against Ethan’s car.
So that was the architecture of the lie.
Dad told Denise he needed money for Paige.
He told Mom he was in debt because of Paige.
He told Paige he needed her cooperation to protect the family.
And he told everyone I would eventually pay.
Each woman had been handed a different version.
All roads led to my bank account.
“What were you doing in the apartment?”
Paige began crying.
“I met Denise there.”
“You said you didn’t know she was involved.”
“I said I didn’t know at first.”
“What did Dad ask you to do?”
“Deliver documents.”
“What documents?”
“Bank papers.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying.”
“I swear.”
“You impersonated me on a lease.”
“I know.”
“That’s identity theft.”
“I know!”
Her voice broke.
People crossed the parking lot around us.
I lowered mine.
“Why?”
“Because Dad said if Denise found out everything, she would ruin him.”
“Everything?”
Paige went silent.
There it was again.
The larger secret.
“What else is there?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Then meet me.”
“No.”
“Paige.”
“I’m scared.”
“So tell the truth.”
“You think truth fixes things.”
“No.”
My voice softened.
“I think lies decide who gets hurt.”
She began crying quietly.
Then she said, “There’s a storage unit.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where?”
“Outside Cincinnati.”
“What’s in it?”
“Records.”
“What records?”
“Dad’s.”
“Give me the address.”
“I don’t have the key.”
“Who does?”
“Mom.”
I went still.
“You said Mom didn’t know.”
“She doesn’t know about Denise.”
“But she knows about the storage unit?”
“Yes.”
“What does she think is inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Paige.”
“I swear.”
Then she whispered something I barely heard.
“Dad made me promise never to open it.”
“Why?”
“He said if anybody ever looked inside, our family would be finished.”
The call ended.
That afternoon, I contacted an attorney.
Her name was Maya Chen.
She specialized in financial fraud and identity theft.
I told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked one question.
“Do your parents know you’ve discovered the apartment?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because from this point forward, you stop confronting them.”
I frowned.
“They’re my parents.”
“They are also potential adverse parties.”
That phrase hurt more than I expected.
Adverse parties.
Not Mom and Dad.
Not family.
People whose interests now opposed mine.
Maya continued.
“Freeze your credit.”
“Already did.”
“Change every password.”
“Done.”
“Do not access the storage unit yourself, even if you get the key.”
“Why?”
“Because if the records matter, you don’t want accusations that you altered or stole them.”
“What should I do?”
“Document everything.”
Then she paused.
“And Sophie?”
“Yes?”
“If your sister impersonated you on a lease, forged signatures, and helped move money, she may be much more involved than she is admitting.”
I knew.
But knowing something intellectually and being ready to accept it were different things.
That evening, Ethan and I finally drove to our new house.
The place was still mostly empty.
Boxes everywhere.
No curtains.
No dining table.
The refrigerator held mustard, water, and leftover wedding cake Caroline had packed for us.
I sat on the kitchen floor.
Ethan sat beside me.
“This was supposed to feel different,” I said.
“The house?”
“Everything.”
He took my hand.
“Do you regret the wedding?”
“No.”
That answer came instantly.
He nodded.
“Good.”
“I regret that you married into this.”
He looked genuinely offended.
“I married you.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder.
For the first time since the bridal suite, I cried.
Not because of the eighty thousand.
Not even because of the forgery.
I cried because some small part of me still wanted my father to call and say there had been an impossible explanation.
That he had not used my name.
That Paige had not pretended to be me.
That Mom had not tried to force me to pay.
That we could rewind everything.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
A storage unit door.
Unit 214.
Below it was a message.
You don’t know me.
But your father hired me eighteen months ago.
He told me to destroy what was inside this unit if anyone started asking questions.
I never did.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Another message arrived.
You need to see it before he gets there.
