I react fast, but I’m not built for backwoods brawls anymore. My suit restricts my movement, my shoes slip on the dusty floor, and Travis’s fist clips my shoulder.
My mother screams.
Lucy flinches hard and curls into herself like she’s seen violence before.
My father tries to stand, but his body won’t cooperate.
Travis grabs for my phone, snarling, “Give me that!”
I twist away and shove him back. He stumbles, and when he does, his jacket falls open.
And then I see it.
A thick leather wallet, bulging.
Not cash.
Cards.
My cards.
A bank card with my name on it. Another one. And a glossy membership card from a private club in Chicago.
My stomach drops.
Travis didn’t just steal my money.
He stole my identity.
I stare at him. “How did you get those?”
He freezes.
My father whispers, broken, “He made us sign papers.”
My chest tightens. “What papers?”
My mother’s voice is barely there. “He said the bank needed authorization. He said it was for your transfers. He said if we didn’t sign, you’d stop sending money.”
My vision blurs with rage.
Travis recovers enough to smirk. “Old people don’t understand paperwork,” he says. “That’s not my fault.”