"When was the last time you used the name Braxton?" he asks, and my eyebrows pinch together at his question.
"I paid forty-seven dollars and twelve cents to change my name. I never used it again. Even when I joined the military, I used Mayson." I look at them both. "Why?"
"Seems like Braxton Michaels has left a hefty paper trail for the past eight years," Casey says. "How many credit cards do you have?"
"Zero." I fold my arms over my chest. "Pay cash for everything."
"According to your credit report, you have over thirty different credit cards," Ethan says. "All maxed out. All in collections."
"How the fuck can that happen?" I ask, and they exchange a look. My pulse kicks up a bit as I process the information.
"We need some answers," Ethan says.
"You aren’t the only one who needs fucking answers!" I almost shout. "I’ve kept my head down, and I never applied for a credit card. I don’t even have a fucking bank loan for the cabin." My hands go to my hips, and I try to reel in my anger.
"How is that possible?" Chelsea asks.
"I gave Ethan a good chunk down, and I paid him monthly." I swallow down. "With interest."
Ethan nods. "I have one bank account that my money is deposited to and that’s it."
I close my eyes now, the pounding in my head getting even worse. "In case you guys missed the memo, I don’t do material things. I have enough clothes for a week. That’s it. I have a truck that is paid for and the cabin." I look at Chelsea now. "Other than that, I have nothing." My pride be damned at this point. I have nothing to offer her. I have nothing to give her. I am nothing.
"There is more," Ethan says, his voice going low.
"How can there possibly be fucking more?" My voice is tight. My heart is pounding so fast it is going to look like I’m panting in a minute. "What else can there be?"
"We just scratched the surface," Casey says. "You have over twenty-seven apartments that you rented in twelve years."
"I’ve been on tour seven times," I tell them. "I signed up for every tour I was offered. When I was home, it was for a couple of weeks at a time, and I stayed in motels. Again, paid in cash."
"Does the name Rosalie Henderson ring a bell?" Casey asks, and I shake my head.
"Not in the least," I tell them, and I look over at Chelsea, who just looks down now. Her hands are now wringing together.
"Braxton Michaels married her four years ago." I stare at him, my mouth going open.
"Excuse me," Chelsea says, walking toward her bedroom. I want to chase after her, but I know that if I do, there will be even more questions, and I definitely don’t have the answers to those either.
"Wait!" I shout, and she stops mid-step. "I don’t know her," I say.
Ethan looks at me and then looks at his sister, and from one look, he knows something is up. "I mean, she was thirty-five," he says, and Chelsea turns around.
"Well, did anyone go to her and find out who she is?" I ask. "Do we have an address? Let’s go find her, and she can tell you she didn’t marry me." I look at them back and forth.
"She died two years ago," Ethan says, and he looks down and then up again. "Left at the emergency room hospital. Beaten so bad her head was mush."
"Oh my god," Chelsea says and puts her hands to her mouth.
"My father," I finally say, everything fucking clicks into place. "My father stole my identity." Rage rips through me. "I never even thought about it."
"That is what we think, too," Casey says. "I have my guys going through all the paper trail. But I’m going to be honest, there is a fuck ton of it."
"Great," I say, shaking my head and wiping my face with my hands. "Just fucking great. This makes no fucking sense." I look at everything. “I was so fucking careful. I covered my tracks. How did he find me?”
"That is what we are trying to find out. I will let you know when I have something else," Casey says, and he turns to walk out of the house. Stopping at Chelsea, he whispers something in her ear. She smiles at him, nodding her head.
"I have a bag in the car," Ethan says. "More clothes since you can’t stop fucking up the ones I already gave you." He turns to walk out of the house, leaving Chelsea and me alone.
"Now do you see?” I look at her as soon as the front door closes, and I know I don’t have much time. It isn’t going to take him long to get the bag and come back. I am not wrong, I don’t even have time to say anything else.