My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“My parents do not bank there,” I said, shaking my head. “They have used the Oakridge National Bank since before I was born.”
“The deputy who took my statement five years ago told me that First Valley Trust had cleared the state’s investigation into the crash,” Christopher said, his thumb brushing his coat lapel. “He said the bank’s investigators found me solely at fault because of my speed.”
“But you said your car was parked,” I whispered.
“It was,” Christopher said. “But the paperwork from First Valley Trust said otherwise. And two weeks later, the bank foreclosed on my shop because I couldn’t pay the medical bills.”
I stared at the silver creamer, the cold metal reflecting the pale yellow walls of the room.
“My father has a locked oak desk in his library,” I said, the realization settling over me like a cold draft. “He keeps a blue folder in there with all the insurance papers from that year.”
“If the bank issued a private settlement to cover up the accident, the records would be in that folder,” Christopher said.
