Chapter 12 - THE BASEMENT
We did not break into Lauren's boutique.
James made sure of that.
Instead, Derek—still legally married to Lauren and listed on the lease—met police at the property after speaking with an attorney.
By 7:30 Christmas night, two officers were inside.
We waited across the street in James's truck.
Mom sat in the back seat.
I didn't want her there.
But she knew where Lauren hid things.
And suddenly, the woman who had spent years protecting Lauren seemed desperate to expose her.
“Why now?” I asked.
Mom looked at me.
“What?”
“Why are you finally telling the truth now?”
She looked through the windshield.
“Because I saw Emma cry.”
My jaw tightened.
“You saw me cry plenty of times.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“And that wasn't enough?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
At least it was honest.
Mom whispered, “I always told myself you were strong.”
I stared at her.
“That was your excuse?”
“It was easier.”
She started crying.
“Every time Lauren fell apart, she screamed. She threatened. She blamed us. You never did.”
“So you rewarded her for hurting people.”
“Yes.”
The word hung between us.
Mom wiped her face.
“And I punished you for being strong.”
I looked away.
I wasn't ready to forgive her.
Maybe I never would be.
Across the street, the boutique's basement door opened.
An officer walked out carrying two cardboard boxes.
Then another.
Then a third.
James's phone rang.
Derek.
James answered on speaker.
“They found everything.”
“What does everything mean?”
“Copies of IDs. Tax returns. signatures.”
Derek sounded sick.
“Loan applications.”
“For our family?”
“And customers.”
My stomach turned.
“What else?”
“There's a notebook.”
“What kind of notebook?”
Derek went silent.
James asked again.
“What kind?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“People Lauren has borrowed from. Used. Accounts. Dates.”
I closed my eyes.
This was bigger than family theft.
“How many?”
“At least thirty.”
Mom whispered, “Oh, God.”
Derek continued.
“And there are dollar amounts next to each name.”
James asked, “Is Sarah listed?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Keyboard clicking.
Derek's voice dropped.
“Five hundred seventy-two thousand.”
I stopped breathing.
Between the original inheritance and mountain property, the amount made horrifying sense.
“And Emma?”
Another pause.
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
I felt physically ill.
“For what?”
“There's a note beside her name.”
James's hand tightened around the phone.
“Read it.”
Derek hesitated.
“Derek.”
He read the line.
Future leverage — clean SSN — parents financially stable.
James's face became something I'd never seen before.
Not fury.
Something colder.
A door opened across the street.
One of the officers walked toward our truck.
James got out.
I followed.
The officer looked at me.
“Mrs. Walker?”
“Yes.”
“We found something you should see.”
He held a clear evidence bag.
Inside was Emma's Social Security card.
I started crying with relief.
But beneath it was another document.
A photocopy of James's military ID.
The officer looked at him.
“Captain Walker, someone has been using your identification for online verification.”
James's face hardened.
“How recently?”
The officer checked his notes.
“Three days ago.”
“What was opened?”
“A line of credit.”
“How much?”
The officer looked at both of us.
“Four hundred thousand dollars.”
My mouth went dry.
“Did she get the money?”
“No.”
Relief rushed through me.
Then he added, “But the application wasn't submitted under North Star.”
James frowned.
“What company?”
The officer turned the document around.
The name on the application made my mother's knees buckle.
WALKER FAMILY FOUNDATION.
I stared at Mom.
“We don't have a family foundation.”
Her face turned white.
May you like
“I do.”
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