Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN MY NAME
Detective Park asked me not to contact North Pines directly.
She wanted subpoenas and preservation requests in place before anyone had time to clean up records.
I agreed.
Then I spent the night staring at the ceiling, thinking about a clinic I had never entered.
At 2:13 in the morning, I remembered something.
Three years earlier, my insurance company had mailed an explanation of benefits for a behavioral health visit.
I had called Mom because she handled the family policy when we were younger and I wondered if an old dependent record had caused an error.
She laughed and told me insurance companies made mistakes constantly.
Then she offered to "take care of it."
The notice disappeared from my desk a week later.
I had assumed I misplaced it.
By sunrise, that memory felt less like forgetfulness and more like theft.
Park called at nine.
"North Pines preserved the records," she said.
"Good."
My voice was rough.
"They also confirmed the appointments were telehealth."
I sat still.
"So nobody checked ID in person."
"It appears they used uploaded identification and video verification."
"Who was on the video?"
"We're working on that."
Mrs. Alvarez arrived with coffee I was not supposed to drink too quickly because of my pain medication.
She heard my side of the conversation and mouthed, Are you okay?
I shook my head.
Park continued.
"The therapist who conducted the first two sessions still works there."
"Did she remember me?"
"She remembered the patient."
Something in Park's wording changed the air.
"And?"
"The patient on screen was blond."
My hair had been dark brown since high school.
Tessa had been blond for the last six years.
I gripped the edge of the couch.
"She pretended to be me."
"That's what we're investigating."
"For three years?"
"The sessions were irregular."
Park spoke quietly.
"But the notes were detailed enough to create a history."
I asked what they said.
She hesitated.
"You may want counsel before reviewing all of it."
"Tell me one thing."
"What?"
"Did she describe me as dangerous?"
There was a pause.
"No."
I exhaled.
"She described you as attention-seeking, manipulative, jealous of your sister, and prone to fabricating illness when family boundaries were enforced."
Every word sounded like something my mother had said at Thanksgiving tables.
"That isn't therapy history," I whispered.
"That's my mother's script."
Park did not disagree.
She told me the clinic had also received a signed release allowing my "mother and primary caregiver" to discuss treatment.
The signature was supposedly mine.
It was not.
By then, there were too many false signatures to feel shocked by each one.
Instead, I felt something colder.
Method.
The false line of credit had been opened fourteen months ago.
The medical power of attorney had been uploaded eleven months ago.
The fake therapy began three years ago.
This had grown in layers.
Someone had been preparing for the day I would object strongly enough to require discrediting.
That afternoon, a process server arrived at my apartment.
Mrs. Alvarez opened the building's outer door but refused to let him upstairs until she verified his identification.
He handed me an envelope through the doorway.
Inside was a petition my mother had filed that morning in county court.
Emergency temporary guardianship.
I read the first page twice.
Elaine Mercer alleged that I was cognitively impaired after my car accident and had a preexisting mental health condition that prevented me from managing finances or medical decisions.
Attached were excerpts from the fake North Pines records.
Attached was the forged medical power of attorney.
Attached were screenshots of text messages I had sent Tessa over the years.
Only my angriest lines were included.
None of hers were.
The petition asked the court to grant Mom immediate authority over my medical care, finances, residence, and communication with third parties until a full hearing.
I felt the room tilt.
Mrs. Alvarez read my face.
"What is it?"
I handed her the first page.
She read three paragraphs and said a word in Spanish that did not need translation.
I called Detective Park.
Her reaction was sharper than before.
"Send me the filing number."
"Can she do this?"
"She can file."
"Can she win?"
"You need an attorney immediately."
Priya had given me a list of legal aid and private attorneys who handled coercive control and financial exploitation.
I called the first number.
No answer.
The second office had no openings for two weeks.
The third call reached an attorney named Nora Bell.
I explained the hospital incident in one breath.
Then I told her about the forged documents.
Then the fake credit.
Then the guardianship petition.
She interrupted only once.
"When is the emergency hearing?"
I looked at the last page.
"Tomorrow at ten."
"Email me everything."
"Can you represent me?"
"I can appear tomorrow."
Her voice turned firm.
"But listen carefully."
I held the phone tighter.
"Do not speak to your mother."
"I won't."
"Do not speak to Tessa."
"I won't."
"Do not post anything online, do not delete anything, and do not accept help from any relative who suddenly becomes sympathetic."
That last warning landed strangely.
"Why?"
"Because your mother filed this less than twenty-four hours after police became involved."
Nora paused.
"That means she isn't reacting emotionally."
"What does it mean?"
"It means she's trying to get legal control before investigators figure out what she already controlled illegally."
At 4:40 that afternoon, Aunt Miriam knocked on my door.
Mrs. Alvarez checked the peephole.
"Older woman, gray coat," she whispered.
My aunt called through the door.
"Mara, please."
Hearing my name in her voice almost undid me.
"I know you're in there."
I stayed silent.
Then Miriam said something that made me stand despite the brace.
"Your mother made me sign that paper."
Mrs. Alvarez looked at me.
I opened the door but kept the chain latched.
Miriam's face was swollen from crying.
"I didn't know what it was," she said.
"Then why did you sign it?"
"She told me it was for your emergency contacts."
"You witnessed my signature."
Miriam looked down.
"I know."
My anger rose so fast it steadied me.
"Did you see me sign it?"
"No."
"Did you ever ask me?"
"No."
"Then you knew enough."
She flinched.
For once, I did not rescue her from the feeling.
"Who's Claire Dorsey?" I asked.
Miriam went still.
That was answer enough.
"You know her."
"Mara, I can't be involved."
"You're already involved."
She backed away from the door.
"Please withdraw the police complaint."
"Who is Claire Dorsey?"
Miriam's eyes filled.
"She's not a friend."
"Then who is she?"
My aunt swallowed.
"She works at the courthouse."
My hand tightened around the doorframe.
"Doing what?"
Miriam looked down the hallway before answering.
May you like
"She files guardianship cases."
