I went to the police station with printed reports and explained everything. The officer asked if I suspected family involvement.
I hesitated, then said, “The accounts are connected to their address, so they may have access.”
He wrote it down without reacting much, like he had heard similar cases before.
Later that evening, I drove toward an apartment complex listed on my report. It was the place I had supposedly lived in before, even though I had never been there.
The building looked ordinary, but something about it felt wrong. I sat in my car and looked at the unit number.
It felt like a hidden part of my life was waiting inside that building.
The next day, I went to my parents’ house when I knew my father and sister would not be there.
My mother was alone in the kitchen when I arrived. She looked surprised but quickly forced a calm expression.
I said, “We need to talk about the accounts in my name.”
She immediately denied everything and said, “I do not know what you are talking about.”
I placed all the documents on the table. Her face changed when she saw them.
I told her, “This is already affecting my job and I filed a police report.”
Her voice rose as she said, “You are overreacting.”