Chapter 2 - THE APARTMENT THAT DIDN’T EXIST
Jason came over the next morning.
Alone.
He did not ask to come inside.
That mattered.
We sat at a coffee shop across the street.
He looked exhausted.
“I need to tell you something before Megan gets ahead of it.”
“Good plan.”
He rubbed his face.
“For the last two years, she’s been telling my parents your family owns three rental properties.”
I stared.
“No.”
“I know that now.”
“Which properties?”
“This apartment.”
He hesitated.
“Your parents’ lake cabin.”
Dad’s fishing cabin was real.
Paid off.
Owned entirely by Dad and Mom.
“And?”
“Some condo in Bellevue.”
I laughed.
“There is no condo in Bellevue.”
Jason looked sick.
“She said there was.”
“Why?”
“She told my parents your family was financially comfortable enough that we didn’t need to buy a bigger house.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with them?”
Jason’s hands tightened around his coffee.
“My parents have been pushing us to buy.”
“Okay.”
“Megan said eventually she’ll inherit property.”
There it was.
Not today.
Not ownership.
Expectation.
Family entitlement dressed as future planning.
I asked:
“What has she used my address for?”
Jason’s eyes changed.
“You know about that?”
“I found mail.”
He looked down.
“Some credit accounts.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why my address?”
“She said it helped separate things from our house.”
That was not an answer.
“What things?”
Silence.
“Jason.”
He exhaled.
“Debt.”
There.
Megan had been hiding personal debt from him.
Credit cards.
Buy-now-pay-later accounts.
A furniture financing plan.
Possibly more.
She used my address so statements did not arrive at their house.
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“I found around twenty-eight thousand last night.”
My stomach tightened.
“And you didn’t know?”
“No.”
I believed him.
He looked too humiliated not to be telling the truth.
Then:
“She told me some of it was your stuff.”
“What?”
“She said you opened accounts in her name years ago when your credit was bad.”
I laughed so loudly the woman at the next table looked over.
“That’s insane.”
“I know.”
“No. Jason.”
I leaned closer.
“I have never used Megan’s identity for anything.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“I’m going through everything.”
That mattered.
Not:
Fix Megan.
Not:
Make her apologize.
Paperwork.
Actual records.
Then Jason said:
“There’s one account I’m worried about.”
“What?”
“Northwest Home Furnishings.”
The package.
“What about it?”
“She financed almost nine thousand dollars.”
“For furniture?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the furniture?”
Jason stared at me.
“Our house.”
My chest tightened.
“So she used my address for billing and hid the account from you.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“She told me the furniture was paid for with money your mom gave her.”
Of course she did.
My mother had become Megan’s imaginary bank too.
Suddenly, the failed apartment invasion made sense in a different way.
Megan did not merely believe family property was shared.
She had been using the idea of shared family wealth as camouflage.
If questioned:
Caleb paid.
Mom paid.
Parents own it.
Family account.
Family property.
Nothing was ever hers alone when responsibility appeared.
Everything became hers when access appeared.
May you like
That was Megan.
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