Four years earlier, I had been a twenty-two-year-old university student pursuing a degree in accounting. My parents had always treated Olivia, their adopted daughter, as someone who needed more protection than I did. When I earned a competitive fellowship in forensic accounting, I believed my future was finally beginning. Three days later, my acceptance disappeared. Someone had accessed my account and declined the offer using my name.

I eventually discovered my application among Olivia’s papers. She admitted she had used my documents because she believed she needed the opportunity more than I did. When I confronted our parents, they defended her. My father told me I could survive disappointment, while Olivia supposedly could not. Months later, Daniel was killed in a hit-and-run, and my family accused me of driving Olivia’s Mercedes. My father privately admitted Olivia had been behind the wheel, but insisted I accept the blame to protect her future. I refused. I lost my job, drained my savings fighting the charges, and watched my reputation collapse. Then an anonymous letter led me to Collins, who began investigating missing evidence. His search uncovered the original traffic-camera footage, and a repair-shop owner eventually testified that my brother Ethan had brought Olivia’s damaged Mercedes in after the collision.