It started with a call from HR. I walked into the office expecting a routine check-in, but instead, two uniformed officers stood waiting. My coworkers watched as I was led out in handcuffs. The charge: identity theft. I barely understood what was happening, but the shock didn’t compare to what I would soon discover. It all came crashing down when I saw the loan applications—with my Social Security Number and my brother’s name.
Sitting in the police station was surreal. The cold, fluorescent lights made everything feel even more unreal. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, waiting to wake up. I couldn't believe I was there, blindsided by everything. My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I tried to figure out how this all happened. What did any of this have to do with me? I sat there, my mind racing in a hundred different directions.
Officer Brian, a big guy with a stern voice, looked at me seriously. 'Emily, you're being charged with identity theft,' he said. I couldn't wrap my mind around it. 'But how? I didn’t do anything!' I protested, feeling desperate. His expression didn’t change. 'The evidence says otherwise,' he replied. I felt helpless, knowing that explaining myself to him wouldn't make it better. I needed to know why or how this happened.