Chapter 4 - Dad's Office
My father worked as a branch operations manager at a regional bank.
He had spent thirty years telling us that paperwork mattered.
Signatures mattered.
Numbers mattered.
"A mistake in ink can follow you for ten years," he used to say.
Apparently that rule had an exception for daughters.
I called him back.
He answered on the first ring.
"What did you do from your office?"
"Claire, you're upset."
"Yes. I'm upset. My daughter is in the ICU and I just learned my family may have committed fraud using my identity. I think upset is allowed."
"Don't use words like fraud."
"Then give me a better word."
He said nothing.
"Did you upload my license?"
"I helped with documents."
"Did you verify my identity?"
"It's not like that."
"Did you use bank systems to get my information?"
His silence answered before he did.
"I looked at an old customer profile to confirm your previous address. That's all."
I sat down slowly.
I had banked at his branch years ago.
"You accessed my customer profile?"
"For family."
"Without permission."
"Stop making me sound like a criminal."
I glanced at Layla.
Her eyes were still closed.
"I'm not making you sound like anything. I'm repeating what you just told me."
Dad's anger came fast.
"Your brother needed one thing from us. One thing. Do you know how much we spent on you growing up? College? Your first car? That apartment deposit after your divorce?"
I felt something old trying to wake inside me: the reflex to apologize.
I pushed it down.
"You helped me because you were my parents. That wasn't a loan agreement."
"Family supports family."
"Then why hasn't anyone supported Layla?"
He had no answer.
At that exact moment, Layla's monitor changed pitch.
Andrea moved quickly to the bed.
"Claire, I need space."
My body reacted before my mind did.
I dropped the phone into the chair and stepped back as two more nurses entered.
Layla's oxygen level was falling.
"What's happening?" I asked.
"She's working harder to breathe."
The room tightened around me.
Dad's voice still came faintly from the phone on the chair.
"Claire? Claire, are you there?"
May you like
Nobody answered him.
Then the respiratory therapist ran in.
