Chapter 7: The Name in the File
Daniel called at seven the next morning.
"The DA's office made contact with the individual Ryan named," he said.
"A man named Curtis Briell.
Two prior convictions — one for document fraud, one for identity theft.
He's already talking."
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, Amelia in the bassinet beside me.
"What is he saying?"
"He's confirmed that he was hired through Ryan, that the contact came via Vance, and that he was paid in two installments — one before the signatures were produced, one after the loan was approved." A pause.
"Lauren, he kept records.
Payment receipts.
Text messages.
He kept everything."
"Why?"
"Insurance," Daniel said.
"Men like Curtis Briell always keep insurance."
I looked at the ceiling.
"So Vance paid him directly."
"One payment came from Vance's personal account.
The second came from Teresa's business account."
I sat with that for a moment.
The bedroom was quiet.
The bassinet made a small creak as Amelia shifted in her sleep.
"What happens now?" I said.
"The DA's office will move toward formal charges.
Given Curtis's cooperation and Ryan's statement, the case is strong.
We're likely looking at identity fraud, forgery, and conspiracy charges.
Vance's direct payment puts him squarely in the middle of it."
"And Teresa?"
"The business account payment connects her directly.
Her lawyer will argue she didn't know the specific use of the funds, but the email chain makes that very difficult to sustain."
I stood up slowly, one hand on the bedpost.
"Daniel.
Is there any version of this where Amelia's father doesn't face criminal charges?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"If Vance cooperates fully — and I mean fully, Lauren, everything he knows, every communication, every instruction he received — there may be room for a negotiated outcome.
Reduced charges.
Probation rather than incarceration.
But that depends entirely on how much he gives them and how quickly."
"He needs to call you today," I said.
"Yes," Daniel said.
"He does."
I ended the call and walked to the living room.
Vance was on the couch.
He had slept there again.
He looked up when I came in, and whatever he saw in my face made him sit up straight.
"Curtis Briell," I said.
His face went completely still.
"He's cooperating," I said.
"He kept the payment records.
He kept the texts.
He has everything, Vance — including the transfer from your personal account."
Vance put both hands flat on his knees.
He stared at the floor.
"Lauren—"
"You need to call Daniel right now," I said.
"Not in an hour.
Not after you talk to your mother.
Right now.
If you cooperate before your mother's lawyer gets to you, there may be a path through this that doesn't end with Amelia visiting her father through a glass partition."
He flinched hard at that.
"I'm not saying it to hurt you," I said.
"I'm saying it because it's true, and because she deserves a father who is present, and the only way that happens is if you move right now."
He looked up at me.
His eyes were red.
"Do you hate me?"
I thought about it honestly.
"No," I said.
"But I don't know who you are anymore.
And I can't answer the rest of those questions until this is finished."
He nodded.
He picked up his phone.
He dialed Daniel's number.
I went to the kitchen to make coffee.
I listened to him talk — quietly, haltingly at first, then steadier.
I heard him say *yes* several times.
I heard him say *I'll come in this morning.* I heard him say *I know.
I know.
I'll bring everything.*
My mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, already dressed.
She looked at me.
I gave her a small nod.
She came in and poured herself a coffee without speaking.
From the living room, Vance's voice continued, low and careful and finally, finally honest.
The coffee maker finished.
I poured two cups.
I set one in front of my mother.
She wrapped both hands around it the same way I did.
"He's going in," I said.
"Good," she said.
We stood there together in the kitchen, drinking our coffee, listening to Vance dismantle the last of his own cover, one careful sentence at a time.
Then my phone buzzed on the counter.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered it.
"Ms.
Lauren?" A woman's voice, professional, measured.
"My name is Carol Simms.
I'm a senior investigator with the state financial crimes unit.
I was hoping we could schedule a time to speak with you directly.
We have some questions about a second loan application — the one that lists a minor as a guarantor."
I set my coffee cup down.
May you like
"I'm available today," I said.
"Any time."
