The next morning, Mom made oatmeal.
I took three bites before my stomach tightened again.
I pulled up my credit reports through an authorized service.
I was looking for new accounts, unfamiliar inquiries, and changes to my personal information.
I found an inquiry from a mortgage lending company dated the previous week.
It did not prove that a loan existed.
It did prove someone had looked at my credit in connection with an application.
I took screenshots and downloaded the report.
I froze access to my credit files at the major reporting agencies.
A freeze could help prevent additional credit from being opened without verification.
It could not reverse paperwork that was already moving.
I called the lender's published customer-service number, not the number on Dereck's draft.
The representative could not share another applicant's confidential information.
When I explained that I was listed as a borrower without consent, she transferred me to a fraud specialist.
I gave my name and identification details through the company's established process.
The specialist confirmed there was an application associated with my information.
She would not disclose every record on the phone.
She took my dispute and provided a reference number.
She said the company would review the application and contact me through a verified channel.
I wrote down her name and the time.
Then I cried.
Not loudly.
I simply sat at Mom's table while the oatmeal turned cold.
"Is there a loan?" Mom asked.
"I don't know yet."
"But there was an application?"
"Yes."
She sat beside me.
"What can I do?"
I asked her to help me find a lawyer experienced in real-estate and consumer-credit matters.
By noon, I had an appointment for the following day.
Dereck called six times.
I answered once.
"Did you call the bank?" he demanded.
"I called the lender named on the paperwork."
He swore quietly.
"You could ruin Adam's deal."
"Did you submit my name?"
"I told you it's preliminary."
"That's not what I asked."
He said he needed to speak with Adam.
Then he hung up.
An hour later, Adam called.
I had not spoken to him since a family barbecue in June.
He sounded cheerful at first.
"There's been a misunderstanding."
"Who put my signature on the loan forms?"
His voice changed.
"Which forms?"
"The ones with my name."
"I don't want to discuss business by phone."
"Then don't. My lawyer can contact you."
He told me I was being hostile.
I ended the call.
In the afternoon, I changed passwords on accounts I controlled and turned on multifactor authentication.
I checked bank statements for transfers I did not recognize.
There were no unexplained large withdrawals.
There were, however, several small payments to a document-preparation company.
They had come from our joint checking account.
I printed the statements.
That night, Dereck texted again.
"Please stop contacting people. We can handle this ourselves."
He had finally answered one question without meaning to.
He was more afraid of outside scrutiny than of the damage to our marriage.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: What the Attorney Asked Before She Would Believe Either of Us
The Passport in the Drawer and the Photograph That Ended Our Anniversary Trip
Part 4 of 16
