Chapter 1

Ten years. That' s how long it had been since I' d set foot in Harmony Creek. The silence of the Midwest was a stark contrast to the constant hum of Silicon Valley, a world I had conquered, or so I thought. I drove my rental car down Main Street, past the familiar but faded storefronts. I was here for a single, grim purpose: to settle my parents' estate. The final piece was their old house, the place where I grew up, now just a property to be managed and sold.

I parked in front of the Harmony Creek Community Bank, a solid brick building that looked like it hadn't changed since the 1950s. My goal was simple: close my parents' accounts and get a clear picture of the estate's finances before dealing with the house.

Inside, the air was still and smelled of old paper. I was directed to the office of the bank manager, a man named Mr. Henderson. He had a soft handshake and a practiced, empty smile.

"Alex Miller," he said, looking at a file on his desk. "It's been a long time. My condolences about your parents."

"Thank you," I said, keeping my voice level. "I'm here to finalize their accounts and get an assessment of the estate."

Henderson nodded slowly, his eyes shifting away from mine. "Yes, of course. We have all the paperwork here. Your parents' accounts are straightforward. But there is another matter we need to discuss."

He paused, letting the silence hang in the air.

"It's about your outstanding loan."

I felt a slight furrow in my brow. "My loan? I don't have a loan with this bank. I haven't banked here in over a decade."

Henderson cleared his throat, a small, nervous sound. "Well, our records show otherwise, Alex. A significant one, in fact. For four hundred thousand dollars."

The number hit me like a physical blow. I stared at him, my mind racing to process the absurdity. "Four hundred thousand? That's impossible. I never took out such a loan. There has to be a mistake."

"I assure you, there is no mistake," Henderson said, his voice firming up as if he was on more solid ground now. "The loan was taken out under your name, using your family home as collateral. The paperwork is all in order."

My disbelief turned to a cold, rising anger. "Show me," I demanded. "Show me this paperwork."

He slid a thick folder across the polished wood of his desk. My hands felt unsteady as I opened it. Inside, I saw a loan application filled with my personal information: my social security number, my date of birth, my old address. At the bottom was a signature. It was a decent forgery, but it wasn't mine.

"This is not my signature," I said, my voice low and tight. "I was in Singapore closing a multi-million dollar deal on the date this was supposedly signed. I have flight records, hotel receipts, and about fifty witnesses who can prove it."

Henderson didn't flinch. He just reached back into the folder and pulled out another document. "Perhaps this will clarify things. This was also filed with the loan application."

He handed me a piece of paper. It was a marriage certificate, issued by the county clerk's office. It stated that Alex Miller was married to a woman named Brenda Hayes.

I had never seen this woman in my life.

"I am not married," I said, the words feeling foreign and ridiculous on my tongue. "I have never been married. Who the hell is Brenda Hayes?"

My voice was rising, but I didn't care. The situation had spiraled from a bureaucratic error into a full-blown nightmare.

"I've never heard of this person," I repeated, pushing the certificate back at him. "This is a forgery. All of it."

"The documents are certified, Alex," Henderson said, his tone now condescending, as if speaking to a child. "The loan, the marriage certificate, the property deed transfer... it's all legally filed."

He mentioned the deed transfer so casually, but the words stopped my heart for a second. "What deed transfer? What are you talking about?"

He pulled out one last document. It was a quitclaim deed. It showed that my family home, my parents' house, had been "sold" to Brenda Hayes and her husband, a man named Jake Thorne.

My name was on the document, another forged signature.

I slammed my hand down on the desk. The sound echoed in the quiet office. "This is a joke. This is insane. I am telling you, I did not sign any of these. I am not married. I did not sell my house."

Henderson leaned back, a flicker of something-annoyance, maybe even satisfaction-in his eyes. "The signature on the loan application matches the signature on file with your account from years ago."

"That's impossible," I shot back, my mind working fast. "Check the digital timestamp on that signature file. When was it last accessed? Who accessed it? There should be a log."

My tech-brain was kicking in, searching for system-level proof.

Henderson' s composure wavered for a fraction of a second. "Our systems are secure, Mr. Miller. The signatures match. That's what matters."

"It's not what matters!" I said, my voice raw with frustration. "I can prove I was on another continent. I can prove I'm not married. This is identity theft. This is fraud. And this bank is complicit."

He straightened his tie, his professional mask slipping back into place. "Those are very serious allegations."

"They are very serious crimes," I countered. "And if this bank doesn't rectify this immediately, you will be facing a lawsuit that will make that four-hundred-thousand-dollar loan look like pocket change. Every transaction, every signature, every digital access log will be subpoenaed. I will own this bank."

I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. I was shaking, not from fear, but from a rage so pure it was almost clarifying.

I stared at Henderson, a man who was either a fool or a criminal.

"Fix this," I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because I am coming for my life, and I will tear down anyone who stands in my way."

I walked out of his office, leaving the forged documents on his desk. The placid afternoon sun outside felt like an insult. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. My quiet trip home to handle my parents' legacy had just become a war. And I had just met the enemy.