apparent misuse of my identity, supported by the records I had preserved.
Two hours later, my phone buzzed from an unknown number.
A voicemail from Tyler.
His anxiety was suddenly no longer the subject.
He was screaming in panic because police had arrived at our parents’ house with a warrant, and certain accounts had been restricted while investigators reviewed suspected financial fraud involving documents in my name.
Tyler’s frantic voicemail stayed in my head as I sat behind my executive desk and watched Chicago’s lights come alive outside the windows.
