Astrid took a long breath.
“The night of the crash, I was driving Mom’s sedan because your car was being repaired.”
I remembered.
“You were supposed to meet friends.”
“No.”
I glanced at her.
“What?”
“I lied.”
“About what?”
“I was meeting someone who had contacted me about you.”
Cold moved through my chest.
“Who?”
“A man named Peter Voss.”
The name meant nothing.
“He said he worked for an insurance investigation company. He claimed someone had been using your identity.”
“My identity?”
Astrid nodded.
“Bank accounts. Property records. Insurance policies.”
I almost laughed.
“I was twenty-nine. I barely had enough money to pay rent.”
“That’s why I thought it was ridiculous.”
She looked down.
“Until Peter showed me documents.”
“What documents?”
“One was a life-insurance policy.”
My stomach tightened.
“On me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two million dollars.”
I nearly missed the exit.
“Who bought it?”
“That was the problem.”
