“Social Security card?”
“Yes.”
“Bank statements.”
“Employment records.”
“Credit applications.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“How many applications?”
“Eleven.”
I stared at him.
“Eleven?”
“Over approximately four years.”
My chest felt hollow.
“I only found one.”
“There were others.”
Mercer said.
“Some were rejected.”
“Some were approved.”
“Several appear to contain signatures that may not be yours.”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“How much?”
“Potential exposure is over two hundred thousand dollars.”
I could not speak.
Nathan had always complained about money.
He controlled our mail.
He insisted on handling taxes.
He told me marriage meant trust.
All that time, he had been using my identity.
Mercer continued.
“That is not the only issue.”
Of course it wasn’t.
“There was a locked storage cabinet in the basement.”
“The rifle?”
“Yes.”
“But also several phones.”
“Documents belonging to other people.”
“Blank checks.”
“Copies of identification.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Other victims?”
“We don’t know yet.”
My mind raced.
Then I remembered Nathan’s business.
He called himself a financial consultant.
He helped relatives with loans.
Small business paperwork.
Credit repairs.
Had he been doing this to others?
Detective Mercer said:
“We also recovered medication.”
“What medication?”
“Prescription sedatives.”
I stared at him.
“I don’t take sedatives.”
“We know.”
“Whose name?”
