Chapter 5: My Name on His Paperwork
I didn't answer immediately.
I sat on the edge of my couch, phone pressed against my ear, while Mother watched me from the opposite cushion.
“What do you mean, use my identity?”” I asked.
Marcus exhaled.
“My name is Marcus Hill. I'm Reggie's business partner. We've worked together for almost two years.””
“I know who you are.””
“Then you know I wouldn't make this call unless I had a reason.””
“Tell me what happened.””
He hesitated.
“I discovered an account connected to a company neither of us had discussed. Your name appears on the authorization paperwork.””
I closed my eyes.
“Mr. Brooks mentioned a financial authorization form.””
“Then you've already spoken to him?””
“Yes. He told me his office found a document with my name on it.””
Marcus was silent for several seconds.
“Simone, I'm going to ask you directly. Did you sign it?””
“No.””
“Did you give Reggie permission to sign for you?””
“No.””
“Did you ever agree to become a financial representative for his company?””
“Never.””
I heard him move something on his desk.
“All right,” he said.
“That's what I needed to know.””
“What exactly did you find?””
“I can't send you confidential business documents without checking with our attorney. But I can tell you that the account was used for transactions that don't match the records Reggie gave me.””
“Transactions involving what?””
“Payments from clients. Transfers between accounts. Money that was supposed to be held for property expenses.””
My stomach tightened.
“Are you saying he took money from clients?””
“I'm saying the records don't reconcile. I don't know yet whether the problem is fraud, unauthorized transfers, bookkeeping errors, or something else. That's why I'm asking questions.””
I appreciated that he wasn't pretending to know more than he did.
But the uncertainty was almost worse.
“Why did you call me instead of Reggie?””
“Because I asked him about the second account, and he told me I had no right to look at it.””
“Does he own the account?””
“That's one of the things we're trying to establish.””
I glanced toward Mother.
She had lowered her head into her hands.
“Marcus,” I said, “I work in an emergency department. I don't know anything about managing business accounts. If my name is on something, I need to find out what it is.””
“That's fair. Don't sign anything, don't agree to repay anything, and don't let anyone pressure you into taking responsibility for transactions you didn't authorize. Get independent legal advice.””
His words were practical, but they frightened me more than any accusation could have.
“Can you send me the documents when your attorney approves it?””
“Yes. I'll contact you tomorrow.””
After the call ended, Mother rose and walked to the window.
For several moments, she stared at the street below.
Then she turned around.
“Your brother would never deliberately hurt you.””
I didn't know how to answer.
“Mother, I hope you're right.””
She shook her head.
“You two have always been different. Reggie wants to prove himself. You just want to help people.””
“Wanting to prove yourself isn't wrong.””
“No. But he has always been afraid of being ordinary.””
I sat quietly.
Mother came back to the couch and lowered herself beside me.
“When your father died, Reggie promised he would make us proud. He said he would buy me a house with a garden. He said you'd never have to work so hard again.””
I remembered those promises.
I had been twenty-two, standing in our father's bedroom while relatives carried boxes down the hallway. Reggie had put his arm around Mother's shoulders and announced that he would take care of us.
For a while, I believed him.
Then he began borrowing money.
Small amounts at first.
A few hundred dollars to cover a contractor's invoice. A larger loan to repair a rental property. Money for a marketing campaign that would supposedly bring in dozens of new clients.
I never saw most of it again.
But every time I asked, Reggie promised the next deal would make everything right.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
I had told myself the money wasn't worth fighting over.
Now I wondered whether my silence had helped him believe that consequences were optional.
Mother took my hand.
“What are you going to do?””
“Find out what my name is attached to.””
“And if it's something bad?””
I looked at her.
“Then I'll deal with the truth.””
She began to cry again.
I held her until she fell asleep, then carried a pillow into the guest room and made sure she was comfortable.
I didn't sleep much.
At six the next morning, I was standing in my kitchen wearing scrubs, drinking coffee that had gone cold, when my phone rang.
Reggie.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“What?””
His voice was strained.
“Good morning to you, too.””
“Why is my name on your financial paperwork?””
Silence.
Then he sighed.
“Marcus called you.””
“Yes.””
“He had no business dragging you into this.””
“You dragged me into it when you used my name.””
“I didn't steal your identity.””
“Did you sign my name on a financial authorization form?””
Another pause.
“Simone, this is complicated.””
“That's not an answer.””
He lowered his voice.
“I need you to come to the office.””
“Why?””
“So I can explain everything face-to-face.””
“You can explain it right now.””
“I can't.””
I stared at the kitchen wall.
For years, Reggie had used that sentence whenever the truth threatened to become inconvenient.
I can't explain it now.
You wouldn't understand.
Trust me.
Every variation had asked for the same thing: more time, less scrutiny, and another chance to escape accountability.
“I'm going to work,” I said.
“If you have documents with my name on them, send them to me. I'm not signing anything, and I'm not agreeing to anything until I've spoken to an attorney.””
His voice hardened.
“You're really going to treat your own brother like a stranger?””
“You're the one who made this a business matter.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
He didn't answer.
I heard a door slam somewhere near him.
“Reggie?””
“I have to go.””
“Wait. Did you use my name to open that account?””
His breathing changed.
Then he said, “I never intended for you to get hurt.””
The call ended.
I stood perfectly still.
He hadn't said no.
At seven, I arrived at the hospital and changed into my uniform. The familiar sounds of the emergency department surrounded me: monitors beeping, shoes squeaking against polished floors, nurses calling out room numbers.
A colleague named Tasha noticed my expression as I signed in.
“You okay?”” she asked.
“Family stuff.””
She handed me a cup of coffee.
“Family stuff doesn't get to take your whole shift. You hear me?””
I smiled weakly.
“I'll try.””
For the next several hours, I focused on the people in front of me. An elderly man arrived with shortness of breath. A teenager came in with a deep cut on his forearm. A frightened mother sat beside her young son while a physician explained the next steps.
I moved from room to room, checking vital signs, administering prescribed medication, and answering questions.
I was good at what I did.
I knew it without needing my brother's approval.
But during a quiet moment near the nurses' station, I opened my email and found a message from an attorney recommended by a colleague. I explained the situation in a few concise paragraphs and requested an appointment.
Then I checked my phone.
Marcus had sent a message.
*Our attorney has approved sharing the documents relevant to your name. Please review them with your own attorney before taking any action.*
Three files followed.
I didn't open them at work.
Instead, I saved the message and waited until my shift ended.
That evening, I met Marcus at a small coffee shop near downtown. He arrived carrying a laptop and a thick folder.
He looked older than I remembered, with tired eyes and a deep crease between his eyebrows.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said.
“I'm here because my name is involved. What did you find?””
He opened the folder.
“The second account was established under a company called Carter Property Solutions.””
I stared at him.
“That's not my company.””
“I know.””
“Who owns it?””
“The public filing lists you as the managing member.””
My mouth went dry.
“I never created that company.””
Marcus nodded.
“The registration lists an address connected to Reggie's office. The contact email also appears to be one he uses for business.””
I looked at the first page.
My name was printed in black ink beneath a title I had never held.
Below it was a signature.
It resembled mine at a glance.
But I knew my signature. I signed medication forms, employment documents, and birthday cards for Mother. I knew the shape of every letter.
This signature was wrong.
The capital S was too narrow. The final stroke was too sharp.
Someone had copied the general appearance without understanding how I actually wrote.
I pushed the paper away.
“That's not my signature.””
Marcus nodded again.
“I believe you.””
“What was the account used for?””
He opened his laptop and turned it toward me.
A list of transactions appeared.
Payments from several property clients had been transferred into the account. Some were later moved to other accounts. Others were marked as management expenses, though the supporting invoices were incomplete.
My hands began to tremble.
“How much?””
Marcus gave me a figure.
I stared at him.
“That can't be right.””
“That's the amount we can currently trace through the account. We're still reviewing the records.””
I felt sick.
“Did Reggie take all of it?””
“I don't know. Some transfers appear to have gone toward legitimate expenses. Others don't have clear explanations. I won't accuse him of stealing money until we understand the records.””
I appreciated his caution.
I also feared what the records might eventually reveal.
“Why would he use my name?””
Marcus closed the laptop.
“That's what I want to know.””
I sat back in my chair.
For the first time, I understood why Reggie had been so desperate when the notification appeared at dinner. This wasn't simply about a failed business deal or a late payment.
My name had been attached to a company I had never formed.
And if the records were accurate, money had moved through an account that appeared to belong to me.
I looked at Marcus.
“Does he know you've shown me this?””
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
Marcus hesitated.
“He said you had agreed to help him establish a temporary account.””
“That's a lie.””
“I know.””
“How?””
“Because I asked him for the written authorization.””
He slid a final page across the table.
At the bottom was a typed statement claiming that I had voluntarily authorized Reggie to act on my behalf.
Beside it was a date.
The date of my father's birthday.
I remembered exactly where I had been that day: at the hospital, working a double shift after another nurse called in sick.
I had never met Reggie to sign anything.
I looked up.
“Did he forge this, too?””
Marcus didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
My phone vibrated against the table.
A message from Reggie appeared.
*I know you're with Marcus. Don't make a mistake you can't undo.*
I read it twice.
Then I looked at the false authorization in front of me.
For the first time, I wasn't merely hurt by my brother.
I was afraid of what he might do next.
And as Marcus began closing the folder, he said something that made me stop him.
“Simone, there's one more transaction you need to see. It's the payment that brought the entire account to our attention.””
He turned the laptop back toward me.
May you like
The recipient's name appeared on the screen.
*Daniel Brooks.*
