For several seconds, I just stared at the screen.
$18,500.
Pending verification.
My name.
Megan’s phone number.
I felt sick.
Kevin was still on the line.
“Liam?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“A line of credit.”
Silence.
“How much?”
“Eighteen thousand five hundred.”
Kevin swore quietly.
“Did you apply for it?”
“No.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “Take screenshots.”
“I already am.”
“Don’t touch anything else yet.”
I looked at the application details again.
The address was mine.
The employer was mine.
The income was almost exactly correct.
Even the length of employment was right.
Whoever filled this out had enough information to make it believable.
Then I saw the email address.
Not mine.
A new Gmail account using my full name and birth year.
I had never seen it before.
My hands started shaking again.
This was no longer family pressure.
This was identity theft.
I opened the lender’s fraud contact page and called immediately.
After several automated menus, a woman named Patricia answered.
I explained that I had discovered a credit application in my name that I had not submitted.
She asked me to verify several pieces of information.
Then her tone changed.
“Mr. Carter, the application is currently on hold because additional identity verification was requested.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“What kind?”
“Photo identification and proof of residence.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was anything uploaded?”
She paused.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A driver’s license image and a utility statement.”
I stood completely still.
“My license?”
“The application includes an image that appears to be a Washington driver’s license in your name.”
I felt cold all over.
My actual license was inside my wallet.
But during my divorce, I had scanned copies of nearly every personal document I owned.
Those scans had once been stored on the missing USB drive.
I looked toward the filing cabinet.
“Can you stop the application?”
“Yes. I’m flagging it for fraud review now.”
“Can you tell me where it came from?”
“I can provide certain information after the investigation begins, but you should also file an identity theft report and contact the credit bureaus.”
“I will.”
Then Patricia said something that made my stomach drop again.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“This application listed a secondary contact.”
“Who?”
She read the name.
Diane Carter.
My mother.
I closed my eyes.
Kevin heard my silence.
“What happened?”
I muted the lender call for a moment.
“My mother is listed as a secondary contact.”
Kevin said nothing.
I returned to Patricia.
“Was she contacted?”
“I can see one outbound verification attempt yesterday afternoon.”
“Did she answer?”
“I’m not able to provide the content of that communication.”
“But there was contact?”
“Yes.”
That was enough.
I thanked her, wrote down the fraud case number, and ended the call.
Then I sat at my kitchen table.
Kevin finally spoke.
“Liam, I don’t know what to say.”
“Neither do I.”
“Are you calling the police?”
I looked at the folder of screenshots on my laptop.
“Yes.”
Saying it out loud made everything feel real.
For years, my family had trained me to treat every violation as a misunderstanding.
Missing food?
Don’t be petty.
Entering without permission?
Family doesn’t need invitations.
Using my apartment?
Stop being selfish.
Copying my lease?
We were only trying to help.
But using my identity to open credit?
There was no family excuse big enough for that.
I called the non-emergency police line.
The dispatcher listened while I explained the situation.
A report was opened.
An officer would contact me for documentation.
Then I went online and placed freezes with all three major credit bureaus.
One after another.
Freeze.
Freeze.
Freeze.
Each confirmation felt like another lock clicking into place.
At 11:18 p.m., Kevin texted me.
Can I come over?
I hesitated.
Why?
His answer appeared almost immediately.
Because I found something.

I called him.
“What did you find?”
His voice was low.
“Megan’s laptop.”
“That sounds like something you should discuss with her.”
“No, Liam. Listen.”
I heard movement on his end.
“She left it open when she went out. I wasn’t trying to snoop. I went to close it because one of the kids was near it.”
“Okay.”
“There was a spreadsheet open.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“What spreadsheet?”
“Names. Amounts. Account numbers.”
I stopped breathing normally.
“Whose names?”
“Your parents. Mine. Megan’s. Yours.”
“What kind of accounts?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Don’t send me anything if it means breaking into her files.”
“I didn’t break into anything. It was literally open.”
That mattered.
Still, I didn’t want him turning himself into part of the problem.
“Take a photo of what was already visible, then stop.”
He was quiet.
“I already did.”
“Send it.”
Ten seconds later, the image arrived.
I opened it.
A spreadsheet filled the screen.
There were columns labeled:
NAME.
AVAILABLE CREDIT.
CURRENT BALANCE.
TARGET.
STATUS.
My eyes immediately found my own name.
LIAM CARTER.
Available Credit: 18,500.
Current Balance: 0.
Target: 12,000.
Status: Verification Pending.
I felt dizzy.
Then I noticed Mom’s name.
DIANE CARTER.
Target: 9,000.
Status: Complete.
Dad.
ARTHUR CARTER.
Target: 7,500.
Status: Complete.
Kevin.
Target: 15,000.
Status: Research.
I stared at the word research.
“Kevin.”
“I saw it.”
“She was planning something using your name too.”
“Looks like it.”
I zoomed in.
There were notes beside each entry.
Beside mine:
Higher score. Stable employment. Lease docs obtained.
Beside Mom:
Easy approval. Will cooperate.
Beside Dad:
Retirement income.
Beside Kevin:
Need SSN.
My stomach twisted.
Kevin whispered, “What the hell has she been doing?”
I kept scrolling across the image.
Another column appeared.
PURPOSE.
Mom: Family consolidation.
Dad: Family consolidation.
Mine: Bridge funding.
Kevin: Expansion.
“Bridge funding for what?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Kevin said, “Wait.”
I heard him moving again.
“What?”
“There’s another tab.”
“Kevin, stop.”
“I’m not opening anything new. It’s already visible at the bottom.”
He sent another photo.
This one made everything worse.
The tab was titled:
CEDAR RIDGE.
Rows of numbers filled the sheet.
Security deposit.
First month.
Furniture.
Moving costs.
Renovation.
And one huge line item:
BUSINESS BUY-IN — $32,000.
I read it twice.
“What business?”
Kevin answered quietly.
“Megan has been talking about opening a boutique consulting company.”
I laughed once.
No humor.
“She was going to fund it using other people’s credit.”
“I don’t know.”
“She literally has targets beside our names.”
“Yeah.”
Then another message arrived from Kevin.
A third photo.
This one showed text at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
Funding plan:
Diane 9k.
Arthur 7.5k.
Liam 12k.
Personal savings 4k.
Remaining gap covered after Kevin account approval.
Total expected: 47.5k.
I stared at it.
Megan hadn’t just been trying to steal my apartment for the weekend.
The apartment had become part of something much larger.
A new home.
A new business.
A financial plan built using everyone around her.
And somehow she expected nobody to notice until it was too late.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
“What?”
She was crying.
“Liam, please don’t call the police.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“How do you know I called them?”
“Megan told me.”
“So she knew exactly what she was doing.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“She made a mistake.”
“A mistake is putting the wrong address on a form.”
“She was desperate.”
“She applied for credit in my name.”
“She thought she could fix it before you found out.”
I actually laughed.
“That makes it worse.”
“Please.”
“Did you know?”
Mom began crying harder.
“Did you know?”
“I knew she was trying to arrange financing.”
“In my name?”
“I didn’t know all the details.”
“Your name is listed as a secondary contact.”
Silence.
That silence was an answer.
“Did the lender call you yesterday?”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What did you tell them?”
“I just confirmed you were my son.”
“Did they ask whether I had applied?”
Mom said nothing.
“Mom.”
“They asked whether the information looked correct.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not ignorance.
Participation.
Maybe she had told herself it was harmless.
Maybe Megan had convinced her everything would be fixed later.
But she had helped.
“You verified a fraudulent application.”
“Liam, I didn’t understand—”
“You understood enough to keep it secret.”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you call me afterward?”
She started crying harder.
I felt something inside me finally break.
Not rage.
Trust.
“Don’t contact the lender again.”
“Liam—”
“Don’t contact my employer.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t contact Rachel.”
Silence.
“You already did that.”
“I was worried.”
“No. You were trying to control the story.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Stop.”
She went quiet.
“For once, just stop.”
I ended the call.
At 11:46 p.m., there was another knock.
Not Megan.
Two police officers were standing outside.
I checked the camera before opening.
Officer Ramirez introduced himself.
The second officer, Chen, carried a small tablet.
I invited them inside.
For almost forty minutes, I showed them everything.
The texts.
The copied lease.
The rental inquiry.
The lender application.
The screenshots Kevin sent.
The fraud case number.
The call history.
Officer Ramirez barely interrupted.
When I finished, he asked one question.
“Does your sister currently have access to any physical copies of your identification?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has she ever had access?”
“Yes.”
“Digital copies?”
“Possibly.”
“Banking information?”
“Maybe.”
He nodded slowly.
“We’re going to document all of this.”
Chen looked at the spreadsheet photo.
“Do you know whether the other listed individuals authorized credit activity?”
“I don’t.”
“Then they should check.”
I immediately thought of Dad.
Mom.
Kevin.
Possibly others.
Officer Ramirez said, “Do not confront your sister. Preserve communication. If she returns, don’t let her inside.”
“I won’t.”
“And change passwords.”
“I already started.”
“Good.”
They left just after midnight.
I thought the night was finally over.
It wasn’t.
At 12:17 a.m., Dad called.
His voice sounded strange.
Flat.
“Liam.”
“What happened?”
“I checked my credit.”
My stomach dropped.
“And?”
“There’s a personal loan.”
“How much?”
“Seven thousand five hundred.”
Exactly the number from Megan’s spreadsheet.
“Dad, did you apply for it?”
“No.”
I sat down slowly.
“Where’s Mom?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know before tonight?”
Dad didn’t answer.
“Dad.”
Finally, he said, “I think so.”
I looked at the spreadsheet again.
Status: Complete.
“Has the money been transferred?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“That’s the problem.”
My heart began pounding.
“Where did it go?”
Dad exhaled shakily.
“To an account I don’t recognize.”
I already knew the next question I needed to ask.
“What’s the account holder?”
There was a long silence.
Then Dad said:
“Megan Carter.”
And just like that, the family argument about a spare key became something none of us could pretend away anymore.

PART 5 — THE FAMILY MEETING THAT ENDED EVERYTHING

I didn’t sleep.
By 2:00 a.m., I had changed every password I could think of.
Bank.
Email.
Cloud storage.
Credit cards.
Utilities.
Insurance.
Anything that contained my name, address, income, or identification.
By 3:15, I had created a folder containing every screenshot and document connected to Megan.
By 4:00, I was sitting in the dark with cold coffee, staring at the spreadsheet Kevin had photographed.
Diane: 9,000.
Arthur: 7,500.
Liam: 12,000.
Kevin: 15,000.
They weren’t names anymore.
They were numbers.
Targets.
Resources.
That was how Megan had been looking at us.
Not as family.
As available credit.
At 6:42 a.m., Dad texted me.
Can you come over this morning?
I stared at the message.
I didn’t want to.
Every instinct told me to stay away from whatever explosion was happening at their house.
Then another message appeared.
Your mother finally told me everything she knows.
That changed things.
I replied:
I’ll come at nine.
At 8:57, I pulled into my parents’ driveway.
Megan’s SUV was already there.
Of course it was.
Kevin’s car wasn’t.
I sat inside mine for a moment.
Then Dad stepped onto the porch.
He looked twenty years older than he had the night before.
When I walked inside, Mom sat at the dining table.
Her eyes were swollen.
Megan stood beside the kitchen counter with her arms folded.
The moment she saw me, her face hardened.
“Seriously?”
I ignored her.
Dad closed the front door.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine standing.”
Megan laughed bitterly.
“Oh, here we go. Detective Liam.”
Dad turned toward her.
“Enough.”
She looked stunned.
Dad had almost never spoken to her that way.
“Dad—”
“I said enough.”
The room went quiet.
He placed a thick folder on the table.
“I spent the last six hours going through our bank statements.”
My stomach tightened.
Mom looked down.
Dad opened the folder.
“There are transfers I didn’t authorize.”
Megan immediately said, “You did authorize them.”
Dad stared at her.
“No.”
“You told Mom she could manage the account.”
“That doesn’t mean she can send money to you whenever she wants.”
Mom whispered, “Arthur—”
He raised one hand.
“Please.”
Mom stopped.
Dad looked back at Megan.
“Over the last fourteen months, approximately twenty-three thousand dollars left our accounts and went to either you directly or companies connected to you.”
Megan’s face changed.
“That isn’t true.”
Dad pushed papers across the table.
“Then explain them.”
She didn’t touch them.
Dad continued.
“Seven thousand five hundred from the personal loan.”
“Dad, I can explain that.”
“Five thousand for something called MC Strategy Group.”
Megan looked away.
“Three transfers totaling forty-eight hundred to Cedar Operations.”
No response.
“And several smaller transfers marked family expenses.”
Megan finally snapped.
“You told me you wanted to help.”
“I wanted to help you.”
Dad’s voice broke.
“I did not agree to finance a business.”
Mom started crying again.
Megan pointed at her.
“She knew.”
Everyone looked at Mom.
My mother covered her face.
That was when I understood.
Megan wasn’t going to protect her.
Not anymore.
The second she felt cornered, she threw Mom directly into the fire.
Dad slowly turned.
“Diane?”
Mom whispered, “I thought Megan would pay it back.”
Dad stared at her.
“You knew about the loan?”
She began crying harder.
“I thought it was temporary.”
“You knew.”
“I didn’t know she used your information without telling you.”
“But when you found out?”
Mom didn’t answer.
Dad’s shoulders dropped.
That silence destroyed something between them.
Megan suddenly slammed her palm against the counter.
“Can everybody stop acting like I robbed a bank?”
I looked at her.
“You used Dad’s identity for a loan.”
“He was going to give me the money anyway.”
“That’s not permission.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No, you don’t.”
She stepped toward me.
“You sit in your little apartment with your predictable job and your neat custody schedule and act like everything is simple.”
I didn’t respond.
Megan’s voice rose.
“You know what it costs to maintain a family?”
“You have a husband.”
“Kevin’s income isn’t enough.”
“That doesn’t make mine yours.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’ve always had it easier.”
I almost laughed.
“Easier?”
“Yes.”
“You mean after my divorce?”
“You survived.”
“That’s your argument?”
“You had savings. Good credit. A stable job.”
Dad stared at her.
“Megan.”
She ignored him.
“You weren’t using any of it.”
There it was.
The sentence that explained everything.
I wasn’t using it.
My money.
My credit.
My apartment.
My privacy.
If Megan wanted something I wasn’t actively consuming at that exact second, she apparently believed it was wasted.
“So you decided to use it for me.”
She threw her hands up.
“I was trying to build something.”
“With stolen credit?”
“I was going to repay it.”
“From what?”
“My business.”
“The business you didn’t have yet?”
She glared at me.
I continued.
“You were borrowing against everyone else to start something that wasn’t generating money.”
“It would have.”
“Maybe.”
“It would have.”
“And if it didn’t?”
She said nothing.
“Dad loses money?”
Nothing.
“Mom takes the blame?”
Nothing.
“Kevin gets debt he didn’t authorize?”
Her face twitched.
“And I get an eighteen-thousand-dollar credit line opened in my name?”
Megan suddenly shouted, “It wasn’t even approved!”
Dad slammed his hand on the table.
“Because he caught you!”
The room went dead silent.
Dad was shaking.
I had never seen him that angry.
“You don’t get credit because the crime didn’t finish.”
Megan stared at him.
Dad pointed at the chair.
“Sit down.”
For once, she did.
Dad looked at Mom.
“Tell Liam what Megan asked you to do yesterday.”
Mom’s face went pale.
I felt my stomach drop.
“What?”
Dad repeated, “Tell him.”
Mom looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Megan asked me to contact Rachel.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Mom swallowed.
“She asked me to do more than that.”
I went cold.
“What?”
“She wanted me to tell Rachel that you had been acting erratically.”
I stared at her.
Megan jumped in.
“Because he was!”
Dad turned.
“Quiet.”
I looked at Mom.
“Why?”
She started crying again.
“Megan thought if Rachel believed you were overwhelmed, Noah might stay with her temporarily.”
“So?”
Mom could barely speak.
“So your apartment would be empty more often.”
For a second, I didn’t understand.
Then I did.
My chest tightened.
“You were trying to reduce my custody time so Megan could get easier access to my apartment?”
Mom shook her head desperately.
“No. I didn’t agree.”
“But she asked.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Megan.
She didn’t look guilty.
She looked annoyed that the plan had been exposed.
That hurt more than anything.
“You brought my son into this.”
“Oh, stop.”
My voice dropped.
“Say that again.”
Megan rolled her eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to take your child away.”
“You tried to convince his mother that I was unstable.”
“Temporarily.”
“Why?”
“Because you never cooperate.”
Dad whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
Megan turned toward him.
“What? Liam acts like every little thing is some sacred boundary.”
I stepped closer.
“My son is not a little thing.”
“I didn’t say Noah was.”
“You used custody as leverage.”
She stood.
“I was trying to solve a housing problem!”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You were trying to solve every problem by making someone else pay for it.”
That finally shut her up.
Dad sat down heavily.
Mom continued crying.
Then the front door opened.
Kevin walked in.
Megan spun around.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked exhausted.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Not now.”
“Yes. Now.”
He placed his phone on the dining table.
“I checked my credit.”
Megan’s face changed.
Kevin looked at me briefly.
Then back at her.
“There are two hard inquiries I don’t recognize.”
“I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.”
He laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“I’ve spent twelve years listening to explanations.”
Megan’s voice softened immediately.
“Kevin.”
He stepped back when she moved toward him.
“Don’t.”
She froze.
“Where are the kids?”
“With my brother.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t need to hear this.”
Megan looked around the room.
“What is this, an intervention?”
Kevin stared at her.
“No. This is me telling you I found the rest of the spreadsheets.”
Her face lost all color.
I looked at him.
“The rest?”
Kevin nodded.
“There were backups.”
Megan rushed forward.
“You went through my computer?”
“You left files synced to our shared cloud drive.”
Her mouth closed.
Kevin continued.
“I found at least seven names.”
My stomach twisted.
“Seven?”
“His parents.”
He pointed toward me.
“You.”
“Me.”
“My brother.”
“My sister.”
“And two friends.”
Dad whispered, “Oh my God.”
Kevin looked at Megan.
“You weren’t building a business.”
“I was.”
“You were building debt.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s exactly fair.”
Then Kevin unlocked his phone.
“I also found messages between you and your mother.”
Mom’s head snapped up.
Kevin corrected himself.
“Sorry. Liam’s mother.”
My mother looked terrified.
Megan said quickly, “Private messages don’t prove anything.”
Kevin stared at her.
“One says: ‘Once Liam signs the new lease, we’ll have enough flexibility to move everything through.’”
I felt my skin go cold.
New lease.
Cedar Ridge.
It clicked.
The apartment wasn’t just housing.
It was documentation.
If I signed a new lease on a larger property, Megan could use the arrangement to make her financial story look legitimate.
Combined household.
Shared expenses.
Family funding.
A convenient explanation for money flowing everywhere.
I asked, “What exactly was she planning?”
Kevin looked at me.
“I’m still trying to understand it.”
Megan snapped, “Because there was no plan!”
Kevin ignored her.
“It looks like the idea was to rent Cedar Ridge using Liam as the primary income qualifier.”
Dad stared at her.
Kevin continued.
“Then some of the credit funds would pay the deposit and startup costs for Megan’s company.”
“And rent?” I asked.
“Split across everyone.”
I looked at Mom.
She couldn’t meet my eyes.
“So they were going to move me into a four-bedroom house.”
Mom whispered, “We thought it could be good.”
“For who?”
No answer.
Kevin said quietly, “There’s more.”
I almost didn’t want to know.
“What?”
He looked at Megan.
“You told the leasing agent Liam was your business partner.”
I stared at her.
Megan immediately said, “It was just easier.”
“Easier?”
I laughed.
“You invented a business relationship with me?”
“It wasn’t official.”
“That’s the point.”
Kevin sat down.
His hands were shaking.
“I called the leasing office this morning.”
Megan’s eyes widened.
“You what?”
“They confirmed you submitted preliminary paperwork.”
Dad asked, “Signed by Liam?”
Kevin shook his head.
“Not yet.”
I exhaled.
Finally, something she hadn’t completed.
Then Kevin looked at me.
“But she uploaded a copy of your electronic signature.”
My relief disappeared.
“What?”
Megan shouted, “It wasn’t used!”
Kevin turned toward her.
“Why did you have it?”
Silence.
“Why?”
She didn’t answer.
I already knew.
The missing USB drive.
My scanned documents.
My signature.
My identification.
I looked at Megan.
“You took my USB.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“It disappeared after you entered my apartment.”
“That proves nothing.”
Kevin’s expression changed.
“Megan.”
She looked at him.
“Don’t.”
He swallowed.
“I saw it.”
The room froze.
Megan’s face went blank.
I looked at Kevin.
“You saw what?”
“A black USB drive.”
My heart started pounding.
“Where?”
“In Megan’s desk.”
She immediately shouted, “That could be any drive!”
Kevin shook his head.
“It has Liam’s initials scratched into the side.”
I had forgotten about that.
LC.
I had scratched them into the plastic years earlier after accidentally mixing drives with a coworker.
I looked at Megan.
She looked back at me.
There was nowhere left for her to run.
“Give it back.”
She crossed her arms.
“I don’t have it.”
Kevin stared at her.
“You moved it?”
She didn’t answer.
“Megan.”
Nothing.
Then her expression shifted.
Not fear.
Calculation.
I knew that look.
She was trying to figure out what information we had and what we didn’t.
I pulled out my phone.
“I’m calling Officer Ramirez.”
Mom stood quickly.
“Liam, wait.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No more protecting her.”
Megan suddenly laughed.
“You think the police are going to care about a USB drive?”
“They probably care about the fraudulent loan.”
Her smile disappeared.
“And the credit application.”
Nothing.
“And the identity documents.”
Nothing.
“And the attempted lease.”
She looked toward the door.
Kevin stepped between her and it.
“Don’t leave.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Kevin.”
“You’re going to tell them where the drive is.”
Her voice became quiet.
“Move.”
He didn’t.
Megan reached for her purse.
For one frightening second, everybody tensed.
Then she pulled out her car keys.
Dad said, “Megan, just cooperate.”
She looked around the room.
At Dad.
At Mom.
At Kevin.
At me.
Then she smiled bitterly.
“You all need me.”
Nobody answered.
She laughed softly.
“You think this family functions without me?”
Dad stared at her.
“Megan, half the problems we’re discussing exist because of you.”
Her face cracked.
Not much.
Just enough.
The confidence disappeared.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Officer Ramirez.”
Every eye in the room turned toward me.
He continued.
“We’ve reviewed the documents you submitted overnight.”
“Okay.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Do you recognize the name Michael Turner?”
I frowned.
“No.”
Megan stopped moving.
I saw it.
Officer Ramirez continued.
“He appears in records connected to the fraudulent credit application.”
I looked directly at Megan.
“No. I’ve never heard that name.”
Her face had gone white.
Ramirez said, “We’d like you to come in and speak with us today.”
“Why?”
There was a short pause.
“Because Mr. Turner appears connected to several similar applications.”
My chest tightened.
“Similar applications?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I’d rather discuss details in person.”
I kept watching Megan.
Her breathing had changed.
Officer Ramirez added:
“And Mr. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“Do not tell your sister about Michael Turner until we speak.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because Megan had already told me everything I needed to know without saying a word.
She knew exactly who Michael Turner was.