Chapter 2: The Word That Kept Me Awake
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, my father's old account ledgers, and nine years of joint bank statements spread across every inch of the surface.
By 2 a.m., I had found the first transfer.
Twelve thousand dollars.
Labeled "contractor deposit" for a renovation we never started.
By 3 a.m., I had found eleven more.
Over twenty-two months, Alexander had moved $340,000 out of the account my father had left me — the account he had promised, in writing, never to touch without my signature.
My hands stopped shaking.
I went very still.
That was when my phone buzzed.
A message from Ryan.
"Check the studio lease.
Chloe's name isn't on it.
Yours is."
I stared at the screen.
"What do you mean mine is?"
His reply came fast.
"Alexander co-signed her studio lease using your identity eighteen months ago.
I found the documents in her files eight months ago.
That's when I started building the case."
The room tilted.
He hadn't just been funding her.
He had been using *me* to do it — my inheritance, my name, my signature forged on a lease for a business I had never once set foot inside.
I typed back: "Ryan, what else did you find?"
Three dots appeared.
Then stopped.
May you like
Then a single line:
"Claudia, the studio isn't the only thing he put in your name."
