Chapter 3: The File Marked With My Initials
Dad turned the laptop toward us.
A spreadsheet filled the screen, and the first column carried the heading **P.H.
Recovery Campaign**.
“What is that?” I asked.
Aaron lunged for the computer.
Agent Daniel Brooks stepped between him and Dad.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Mr.
Carter.”
“You can’t search my property without a warrant.”
“You left it unlocked in a room registered under Paige’s reservation,” Dad said.
“And you asked me to bring it downstairs.”
Aaron pointed at him.
“You opened private business files.”
“I opened the screen,” Dad replied.
“Your lies were already there.”
Agent Maya Chen scrolled through the spreadsheet.
Donor names appeared beside payments for medical transportation, recovery housing, and treatment assistance.
A third column showed transfers to companies I had never heard of.
“Blue Harbor Consulting,” Maya read.
“Carter Family Logistics.
Island Outreach Services.”
Nicole pressed both hands against the desk.
“Aaron, you told me those were vendors.”
“They are vendors.”
“Then why does Carter Family Logistics use our home address?”
Aaron’s mouth tightened.
“Because I registered it from home.
That isn’t illegal.”
Maya clicked another tab.
My driver’s license, insurance card, treatment schedule, and electronic signature were arranged inside a folder labeled **SUPPORTING DOCUMENTS**.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“Where did you get those?”
“I didn’t,” Aaron said.
“You gave them to Nicole.”
I turned toward my sister.
“Is that true?”
Nicole stared at the carpet.
“Answer me.”
“You sent me copies when you were sick,” she whispered.
“You asked me to organize your paperwork.”
“I asked you to take one envelope to my insurance office.”
“There were other documents in the envelope.”
“And you copied them?”
Aaron stepped beside her.
“She was helping you.
Don’t twist this because you’re embarrassed about canceling a vacation.”
I moved closer to him.
“You opened an account in my name.”
“You signed the application.”
“I did not.”
“You were taking a lot of medication then,” he said.
“Maybe you don’t remember everything.”
Dad’s palm came down on the counter.
“Don’t you dare use her treatment against her.”
Aaron gave him a thin smile.
“Memory problems are common.
Any doctor will confirm that.”
My knees weakened.
Maya closed the laptop and slid it into an evidence case.
“We’ll determine when the files were created and who accessed them.”
Nicole reached for the case.
“What happens to me?”
“That depends on what you did,” Maya said.
Aaron’s head snapped toward her.
“Nicole did nothing.”
It was the first time he had defended her, and the speed of it frightened me more than an accusation would have.
Maya’s phone vibrated.
She read the message, then looked at me.
“Ms.
Paige, did you authorize a fundraising letter describing your diagnosis?”
“No.”
“Did you approve photographs of yourself inside the treatment center?”
“I never took fundraising photographs.”
Daniel opened a document on his tablet.
My face appeared above the words **Help Paige Win Her Fight**.
Below it was a plea supposedly written by me.
I covered my mouth.
“How much did they raise?”
“More than six hundred thousand dollars.”
Nicole stumbled backward.
“You said it was eighty thousand.”
Aaron seized her wrist.
“Stop talking.”
She pulled away, and Maya stepped between them.
I looked at the final paragraph of the letter.
It promised donors that every dollar would help me and other patients travel safely for treatment.
“Not one person asked me if I received this money?”
“We did,” Maya said.
“Three weeks ago.”
“The call that Aaron told me was a scam?”
Aaron’s face changed.
Dad reopened a printed email he had found beside the laptop.
The sender was Aaron.
The recipient was Nicole.
Dad read the final line aloud.
“‘If Paige starts asking questions, remind her that sick people forget things.’”
Nicole shut her eyes.
May you like
Then Dad read the next sentence.
“‘And if that fails, use the recording.’”
