Chapter 4 - The Price of Being the Favorite
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Rebecca sitting in a lending office wearing a cream coat and signing my name.
I imagined my mother standing beside her.
Watching.
Approving.
Perhaps even smiling.
The next morning, Rebecca agreed to meet me at a quiet coffee shop outside town.
I told Tara beforehand.
She advised me to avoid promises, threats, or bargaining and to let Rebecca speak for herself.
Rebecca arrived fifteen minutes early.
Without the diamonds and carefully applied makeup she'd worn at Christmas, she looked older.
Her eyes were swollen.
She had a paper cup in front of her, but she hadn't touched it.
"I almost didn't come," she admitted.
I sat opposite her.
"Then why did you?"
She glanced toward the window.
"Because Madison asked me something yesterday."
"What?"
"She asked why Lily didn't get a Christmas present."
I waited.
Rebecca swallowed.
"She said she'd never seen Lily look so sad. Then she asked whether Grandma thought Lily wasn't really part of the family."
My throat tightened.
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her Grandma was wrong."
"Did you tell her you helped Grandma steal her aunt's identity?"
Rebecca flinched.
"No."
I folded my hands on the table.
"Then we should start there."
For nearly an hour, Rebecca told me what had happened six years earlier.
Jason's renovation business had been struggling.
He'd taken on several projects at once, borrowed money against expected profits, and underestimated nearly every expense.
My father's old construction supply business had already collapsed.
Robert and Linda were terrified of losing their house.
But instead of scaling down, selling assets, or asking Jason to face the consequences of his own decisions, they decided to borrow more money.
Cedar Ridge agreed to consider the loan with additional security.
My parents offered their home.
The lender also wanted another financially stable guarantor.
Someone with reliable employment.
Someone whose credit history could support the application.
Me.
"Jason said you would never agree," Rebecca whispered.
"He was right."
"Linda said that didn't matter."
I stared at her.
"What did she say?"
Rebecca pressed her hands together.
"She said you'd been helping with their mortgage, so you were already responsible for keeping the family afloat."
I shook my head.
"Sending money to my parents isn't the same as agreeing to be personally responsible for a business loan."
"I know that now."
"You knew it then, too."
She looked down.
That was the first time she stopped making excuses.
"Yes," she whispered. "I knew it was wrong."
Outside, a delivery truck rolled past the window.
Inside, everything seemed painfully still.
Rebecca explained that my mother had brought an old copy of my driver's license.
She'd known our heights were similar and that we both had dark hair.
During the pandemic, with masks covering most of their faces, Linda believed Rebecca could pass for me long enough to complete the paperwork.
"Jason told me it was temporary," Rebecca said.
"He said the business would turn around and they'd replace the guaranty within a year."
"And did it?"
She laughed bitterly.
"No. The business grew, but so did the debt."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Rebecca finally looked directly at me.
"Because it was easier to let you keep paying the mortgage."
The words landed like a physical blow.
For six years, I had believed my parents were struggling to survive.
I pictured my father losing sleep over bills.
My mother clipping coupons.
Both of them worrying about retirement.
Meanwhile, they had spent thousands on extravagant holidays, expensive restaurants, and gifts for Jason's family.
I'd been sacrificing comfort.
They'd been preserving an image.
"How much of the loan went to Jason?" I asked.
"I don't know the exact amount. Most of it, I think. Your father got a little to cover some old bills."
"And you benefited?"
Rebecca stared into her untouched coffee.
"Yes."
I appreciated the honesty.
It didn't make me less angry.
She told me about vacations paid for by Jason's company, a luxury SUV, and expensive renovations to their kitchen.
They had called those things business investments or deserved rewards.
Nobody had questioned how a struggling business could afford them.
Especially not Jason.
"Why are you telling me all this now?" I asked.
Rebecca rubbed her eyes.
"Because Madison is getting old enough to understand what kind of people we're becoming."
That was the first answer she'd given that sounded completely sincere.
I thought of Lily.
Eleven years old.
Old enough to remember every humiliation.
Young enough to believe she might deserve them.
"Then tell the truth officially," I said.
"Talk to my attorney. Give her the same account you just gave me."
Rebecca looked frightened.
"Jason could leave me."
"He might."
"Madison could lose her home."
"That's possible."
Her eyes filled again.
I kept my voice steady.
"Rebecca, I understand you're afraid. But you let somebody use my identity to protect your comfort. Your fear doesn't erase what happened."
She nodded slowly.
"I know."
When we left the coffee shop, Rebecca promised to contact Tara.
I didn't thank her.
I wasn't ready to.
That afternoon, I picked Lily up from Aaron's house.
He stood on the porch while she collected her backpack.
"She told me about Christmas," he said.
I looked away.
"I'm sorry she had to."
Aaron shook his head.
"Claire, you don't have to apologize for your parents."
It was a simple sentence.
But it felt strangely unfamiliar.
He handed me a small envelope.
"These are copies of the hospital records I kept from when Lily had her surgery. I remembered you asking about that date."
I stared at him.
"You still have them?"
"I'm her dad. I keep everything."
Inside were discharge documents, appointment confirmations, and a time-stamped photograph of me sitting beside Lily's hospital bed.
10:41 a.m.
One minute before the alleged notarization.
The photograph showed me holding Lily's hand.
My parents' document showed me supposedly signing in Dayton.
They couldn't both be true.
That evening, Tara called.
Rebecca had contacted her office.
She was considering providing a written statement with the advice of her own lawyer.
But Tara had discovered something else.
"Claire, I found an old business filing connected to the loan."
"What kind of filing?"
"A financial statement submitted in support of Jason's company."
I leaned against my kitchen counter.
"And?"
Tara's voice became serious.
"It identifies you as a major financial backer of Bennett Renovations."
"That's impossible."
"There's a supporting letter, supposedly written by you."
My chest tightened.
"What does it say?"
May you like
Tara paused.
"It says you agreed to put your own financial security behind Jason's business because he was the child your parents had chosen to inherit the family legacy."
