Eight Million in My Name

The day my bank cards were frozen, the bank told me I had an eight-million-dollar loan that was six months past due. When the court’s enforcement notice popped up on my phone, I went numb. I was an ordinary office worker. Where would I have gotten eight million dollars? Following the information on the notice, I rushed to the bank. The lending manager slapped a loan agreement down in front of me. Fighting back panic, I demanded to know where the money had gone. The records showed that every cent had been transferred to an overseas account one second after the loan hit my account. I pointed at the screen, my voice shaking. “That’s impossible! I was right here in the country. How could I have made a transfer from overseas?” Manager Wilson sneered. He tapped a few keys, pulled up another record, and said with open contempt: “Still trying to deny it, Ms. Bennett? Our system shows you were vacationing in that country on the day of the transfer.” I slapped my certified hospital records down in front of him. They clearly stated that I’d been hospitalized with a high fever during those days. I hadn’t even been able to get out of bed. Wilson frowned as he checked the dates. His expression finally shifted, but he refused to back down. “Even if you weren’t abroad, someone had to make the transfer. The system doesn’t invent transactions out of thin air.” I asked an old classmate who worked at the bank to check the transfer’s backend logs. What he found sent a chill down my spine—the IP address wasn’t overseas at all. It was right here in the city, traced to the home next door to mine. I gripped the thin transaction statement so tightly my nails nearly broke the skin. “Check something else for me. Right now. Is the phone number that received the verification code still active?” The moment the court’s enforcement notice appeared on my phone, my world fell apart. My bank cards had been frozen. There was an eight-million-dollar loan in my name, and it was already six months overdue. I was an ordinary office worker making eight thousand a month. I’d never even seen eight hundred thousand dollars in my life. How could I possibly owe eight million? After a moment of stunned silence, I grabbed my bag and raced to the bank listed on the notice. “Ms. Sophie Bennett, please calm down.” The lending manager, Mark Wilson, wore a strictly businesslike expression as he tossed a stack of contracts in front of me. There it was in black and white. The name “Sophie Bennett” stood out in glaring red at the signature line. The fingerprint beside it looked so clear it could have been pressed there yesterday. My name. My fingerprint. But never my consent. My heart was pounding in my throat. I forced it down, but fear still made my voice shake. “I didn’t sign this. I want to know where the money went.” Wilson tapped the desk impatiently, but he pulled up the records as required. The computer screen showed that the entire eight million had been transferred to an unfamiliar overseas account one second after it arrived. “See? You transferred it yourself.” His voice dripped with contempt. Then it got even more absurd. He pulled up my international travel records and sneered. “You were ‘vacationing’ in that country on the day of the transfer, Ms. Bennett. You did all of this yourself. It has nothing to do with our bank.” The records clearly listed my departure and return dates. The destination was the same country where the overseas account had been opened. But I remembered those days perfectly. I’d been in the hospital for an entire week with acute appendicitis and a high fever. I hadn’t even been able to get out of bed. Someone had done all of this using my identity. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. Panic wouldn’t solve anything. I hurried out of the bank, rushed home, and searched every drawer until I found the hospital records and discharge summary that could save me. The dates were clear. The hospital’s official stamp stood out on the page. This was the strongest alibi I had. Then I called an old classmate who worked in the bank’s IT department. I was almost crying as I begged him for help. “Please check the IP address on a transfer for me. I’m begging you. This is really important.” Half an hour later, he called back. His voice sounded strange. “Sophie, this IP address… it’s right next door to your place.” Next door? I clutched the thin hospital record. My nails dug deep into my palm, and the sharp pain helped me hold on to the last of my composure. Only one person lived next door—my best friend, Lily Foster. The same “best friend” who had taken such good care of me when I was sick. Who had handled everything at home. Who had even kept my phone and ID safe for me. All at once, details I’d ignored came flooding back. She’d said my phone was old and charged too slowly. She was always taking it to her place to “charge overnight.” She’d said my ID photo was awful and taken it away, claiming she knew someone who could “touch it up.” The more I’d trusted her then, the colder my heart felt now. With trembling hands, I called my old classmate again. My voice was so hoarse I barely recognized it. “Please check something else. Right now. Is the phone number that received the transfer verification code still active?”“Sophie, it was a virtual number. It had already been deactivated by the time I found it.” There was sympathy in my classmate’s voice. “But I asked a friend at the payment platform to help. We followed the trail to the account used to buy the number.” “They used a fake identity, but the identity-verification trail points to someone named Ryan Cole.” Ryan Cole was Lily’s boyfriend of six months. He claimed to be a finance professional and spent his days drifting through expensive restaurants and exclusive venues. I’d warned Lily before. Ryan seemed slick and untrustworthy. But she’d accused me of being jealous that she’d found true love. She said Ryan was a business genius who had moved back from overseas just for her. Now it all made sense. After hanging up, I sat on the cold floor, my whole body feeling like ice. The doorbell rang without warning. I looked through the peephole and saw Lily. She was holding a bowl of steaming chicken soup. Her face wore its usual sweet, innocent smile. “Sophie, Mrs. Wilson said you looked awful when you rushed out earlier. Did something happen?” “Open up. I made your favorite chicken soup.” I opened the door and looked at her without expression. It took every ounce of strength I had to suppress the urge to lunge at her and tear away that fake, caring mask. Lily startled at the sight of me. She reached toward my forehead with a worried look. “Oh my God, you’re so pale. Are you sick?” I moved away from her hand and gave her a cold look. “Come in.” She stepped inside, slipped off her shoes as if she owned the place, and set the soup on the dining table. As she ladled it into a bowl, she kept talking. “You always do this. You never take care of yourself.” “No matter how busy work gets, your health comes first. Come on. Have some while it’s hot.” Her performance was flawless. That concern looked so genuine that, if I hadn’t known the truth, I might have stayed trapped in her lies forever. I didn’t move. Standing behind her, I asked quietly: “Lily, do you remember when I was hospitalized six months ago?” Her hand paused for a fraction of a second before she resumed ladling the soup. She looked back at me with a smile. “Of course. Your fever was so bad you were barely conscious. You scared me to death.” “Thank God I was there every day. What would you have done all alone?” “Yes. Thank God I had you.” I stared into her eyes and asked, one word at a time: “You had my phone and my ID then, didn’t you?” Her smile stiffened. Her eyes shifted away. “Yes. You were so out of it that I was worried you’d lose them, so I put them somewhere safe. Why are you asking?” “No reason.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, lifting the bowl. Steam blurred my vision. “It just occurred to me that I’ve been too good to you.” She seemed to relax and put her smile back on. “We’re best friends. Who else would I take care of?” I looked at her, ice spreading through my chest. She probably thought I was just being sentimental. She had no idea what was raging inside me. I needed more evidence. Enough to take them down in one blow.For the next few days, I acted as though nothing had happened. I went to work and came home as usual. Collection calls and legal demand letters from the bank came pouring in. Every time, I calmly replied, “I’m handling it.” The calmer I was, the more anxious Lily became. She started coming over constantly, fishing for information. “Sophie, are you really sure you’re not in trouble? You’ve looked so worried coming home from work these past few days.” She sat on my couch, peeling an apple. “It’s nothing. Just a little problem at work.” I rubbed my temples, pretending to be exhausted. “Why would a work problem get you a court summons?” She let it slip as if by accident, then immediately covered her mouth. “Sorry. I wasn’t snooping. I came by with fruit yesterday, and there was an envelope on your desk that wasn’t sealed.” I laughed coldly inside. What an actress. With a sigh, I played along. “Don’t even ask. Someone set me up. I’ve somehow ended up with a loan I never took out.” Lily immediately tensed and leaned closer. “A loan? How much? Is it serious?” “Eight million.” I watched her eyes closely as I said it. Her pupils contracted. The paring knife slipped from her hand and hit the floor. That flash of panic didn’t look fake. Maybe she hadn’t expected me to say the number outright. Maybe she hadn’t realized I knew the full amount. “Eight million?” she stammered, her face turning white. “Yeah.” I slumped against the couch, pretending to be defeated. “I’ve already gone to the police. They said they have a lead.” “They pulled a blurry image from the bank’s security footage. You can’t make out the face, but the build looks like a woman’s.” I’d made that up to test her. Lily’s reaction was stronger than I’d expected. She was shaking all over, and it took her several tries to get a firm grip on the knife. “A picture? What does that prove? Plenty of people have the same build.” Her voice was dry and shrill. “The police said they have technology that can compare skeletal proportions. Apparently, it’s very accurate.” I pushed harder. “And you have to be there in person to take out a loan. Once they make the comparison, I’m sure the truth will come out.” Lily couldn’t sit still anymore. She scrambled to her feet. “Try not to worry, Sophie. I’m sure everything will be fine.” “I just remembered I left soup on the stove. I need to get home.” She practically fled. As I watched her hurry away, the last warmth drained from my eyes. That evening, Ryan showed up. He brought expensive gifts and said he’d come specifically to comfort me. “Sophie, Lily told me what happened.” He sat across from me, looking outraged. “This is unbelievable. Don’t worry. I know people who can find anyone. I’ll help you track down that scammer.” As he spoke, he discreetly scanned my apartment, his eyes searching for something. I knew exactly why he was there. Lily had sent him to find the photograph that didn’t exist. I pretended to be overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Ryan.” “The police said the photo is in the folder I was looking through yesterday. I’ll find it in a minute.” His eyes immediately lit up. After that, the two of them took turns playing good cop and bad cop. They kept trying to draw out more information or get their hands on the “evidence.” All I had to do was watch as they sank deeper into my trap.I knew I had to give them one final push and make them expose themselves. During a call with Lily, I deliberately let something “slip.” My old classmate at the bank had powerful connections, I told her. Through special channels, he was close to identifying the real owner of the payment account used to buy the virtual number. “They used a fake identity, but my classmate says every online transaction leaves a trail.” “Two days at most, and we’ll know exactly who it was.” I let hope and anger color my voice. I knew Lily was next door. The walls at her place weren’t soundproof, so she would hear every word. Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, a furious argument broke out next door. I’d already opened the recording app on my phone. I pressed it against the shared wall. “Ryan, you said it was foolproof! Sophie’s friend is about to trace it back to you!” Lily’s voice was sharp with terror. “What are you panicking for?” Ryan sounded irritated. “So what if they trace it to me? Without direct evidence, who can prove I did anything?” “You’re the one who went to the bank and filled out the paperwork!” “And who did I do that for? If you hadn’t lost all that money gambling, would I have needed to take this risk?” “Sophie trusted me so much. I…” Lily’s voice broke. “What’s the point of talking about that now?” “We didn’t get a cent of that eight million. Those people overseas took it all!” “We went through all this for nothing!” Ryan roared. “No. We can’t wait any longer. We have to leave now.” “Find a way to steal Sophie’s passport tonight. We’ll use her identity to get out of the country.” “Use her identity again? Are you insane?” “What else are we supposed to do? Use our own? We’ll be arrested the second we try to leave! Listen to me. This is our last chance!” On the other side of the wall, I listened to the clear recording and shook with rage. Not fear. Rage—and the crushing weight of betrayal. They hadn’t just stolen money in my name and destroyed my credit. Now they wanted to steal my life. I calmly saved the recording, then dialed another number. “Mr. Brooks? I have some new evidence. I think we’re ready to close the trap.”