"Why don’t we…" Ethan starts, looking at me and then looking at Chelsea.
"Oh, you did not just do that," Chelsea says, folding her arms over her chest. "You did not come into my house"—she points at the floor—"and dismiss me like that, Ethan McIntyre."
"Oh, shit. She used your whole name," Casey says. "If she is anything like her momma, that means you’re in trouble." He puts his hands on his hips, looking at both of them.
I fold my arms over my chest and wait to see what Ethan says. "You were the one who didn’t want to be involved." He points at her.
"And you were the one who put me in the middle of this." She advances on him. "So now is not the time for you to try to protect me.”
"She’s right," I hear myself say, and all sets of eyes swing my way. "She’s in this all the way."
Ethan shakes his head. "This is a bad idea," he mumbles.
"Did you find anything from the woods?" I ask, not sure I can take much more of not knowing.
"Nothing," Ethan says. "We checked everything, but we can’t see that far out."
"We are fixing that today," Casey says now. "I am having cameras installed all over this place. If a fucking squirrel eats a leaf, I’m going to find it."
I look at them, and I can feel I’m missing something. "What are you not telling me?"
"We found a couple of things," Casey says, and I can tell he doesn’t know how to start.
"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.
He walks back in with a green Army bag so full the zipper doesn’t close. "My mother," Ethan starts to say. "Well, she found out, and things just got out of hand. She called the girls, and they went on a buying spree. They did it in turns so no one would be on to them." Chelsea laughs, closing her eyes and holding her forehead. "I’m not even kidding. They thought they were so smooth. But they went to the same store." I want to laugh at that one.
"Let me know how much I owe you," I tell him as he just laughs.
"Have you not met my mother?" he asks me, and he just shakes his head. "She won’t take a penny from you."
"But…" I start to say.
"But nothing," Chelsea says now. "It’s rude to say no to a gift. It’s their Southern charm."
"I’m going to head out and pass by the command post," he says, and I nod at him.
He walks out, and I stand here in the middle of Chelsea's house. "We need to talk," I tell her.