Chapter 2 - The Ghost Debt
The paper resting beneath Malcolm’s leather-gloved hand was an official notice from a federal debt collection agency, stapled to a stack of defaulted loan agreements. At the very top, printed in bold, stark lettering, was my full legal name: Julian Cross. Beneath it was my Social Security number, followed by a staggering outstanding balance of $487,219.
My breath caught in my throat. The dining room seemed to tilt on its axis.
"Three private business loans," Malcolm explained, his voice razor-sharp in the heavy silence. "Taken out over twenty-four months. All registered under Julian’s name, secured by the lakefront property Grandma Evelyn purchased for him three years ago. In addition, four tier-one credit cards were opened, run up to their maximum limits, and left completely unpaid. The default notices triggered wage garnishments, froze his tax returns, and systematically cratered his credit score to absolute zero."
I stared at the numbers, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Three years. For three brutal years, I had lived in a rusted-out 2004 sedan parked behind an industrial laundromat. I had rationed cans of beans, washed my hair in gas station sinks, and endured sub-zero winter nights with nothing but a wool blanket and two pairs of socks. Every single background check I had ever submitted for an entry-level job or a studio apartment had been rejected instantly. Landlords had sneered at me; employers had looked at my credit check and assumed I was a reckless degenerate or a convicted fraudster.
And all this time, the rot had come from inside my own home.
"You ruined me," I said, the words coming out barely louder than a whisper, yet carrying enough weight to make Belle visibly flinch. "You ruined my life."
"Julian, please, keep your voice down," my father hissed, glancing anxiously toward the dining room windows as if the neighborhood could hear. "You don't understand the pressures I was under. The real estate market took a brutal turn. We had investors breathing down our necks. Belle was trying to launch her luxury boutique in downtown Chicago, and the commercial lease was bleeding us dry! We were a family. Families share the burden."
"Share the burden?" Grandma Evelyn’s voice cut through the air like a silver scalpel. She rose slowly from her high-backed chair, her posture rigid, her hazel eyes blazing with an icy fury I had never seen before in my entire life. "You made your son a ghost, Arthur. You stole the home I bought with my late husband’s pension, threw his name to the wolves to cover your pathetic vanity projects, and let him sleep on the streets!"
"Evelyn, you don't know the whole story!" Mom cried out, her manicured fingers clutching her pearls. "Arthur was going to pay it back! The boutique was going to turn a massive profit by year two! Belle was going to marry into the Sterling family—she needed that business front to maintain appearances!"
"Appearances?" I barked out a bitter, hollow laugh. My eyes locked onto Belle. My younger sister, wearing a four-thousand-dollar cashmere dress, carrying a designer purse that cost more than two years of my survival budget. "You were buying runway clothes while I was digging half-eaten sandwiches out of bakery dumpsters behind your shop, Belle. You saw me once. Six months ago on Michigan Avenue. I called your name. You crossed the street and walked into a boutique like you'd never seen me before."
Belle looked away, tears streaking her perfectly applied bronzer. "I was terrified, Julian! Dad said if I acknowledged you, you'd come asking for money, and it would scare away Richard’s family! You looked crazy! You looked dirty!"
"Because I was!" I shouted, slamming my palm down onto the mahogany table. The crystal glasses rang. "I was starving! And you used my identity to buy your runway life!"
Malcolm leaned over and collected the documents, his face utterly devoid of emotion. "There is one more detail that Mr. Cross needs to be made aware of regarding the lakefront estate."
Dad jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backward. "Malcolm, shut your damn mouth! That is a private family affair! You work for my mother, not him!"
"I work for the estate of Evelyn Cross," Malcolm replied coldly. "And pursuant to the original irrevocable trust executed by your mother, the lakefront property belongs exclusively to Julian Cross. Which brings us to the occupants currently residing on the premises."
Dad's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face was entirely gray.
Malcolm looked directly at me. "Julian, your father didn't just forge your deed to secure illegal business loans. He leased your house out on an off-market, cash-only lease-to-own agreement. For twenty-five thousand dollars a month. Paid directly into an offshore account registered under Belle’s name."
The betrayal hit me like a physical blow to the chest. A house worth a million dollars, pulling in a quarter of a million a year in pure stolen income, while I shivered in the dark.
May you like
Grandma Evelyn turned to Malcolm. Her tone was absolute steel. "Malcolm. Call the state prosecutor. Call the sheriff's department. And prepare the eviction paperwork. Tonight."
***
