“She did it for you.”

The fluorescent bulb above us flickered, casting long, unstable shadows across the concrete floor of the basement corridor.

My hand drifted up to my temple, feeling the thick gauze taped over the stitches.

The pain was a dull, rhythmic throb that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

“She forged my name,” I said.

It was not a question.

“On federal loan documents?”

Jason nodded quickly, his shoulders hunched as if he expected a blow.

“And private lenders,” he whispered.

“Two of them.”

“How much, Jason?”

He wouldn’t look at me.

He stared at the yellow safety line painted on the floor between us.

“Eighty thousand for the first year,” he said.

The number hung in the cold air.

I felt a sickening drop in my stomach.

“Eighty thousand dollars,” I repeated.

“She said you’d never find out,” he said, his voice trembling.

“She said by the time the payments started, I’d be a resident and I could pay them off myself.”

“That is fraud, Jason.”

“I know,” he sobbed.

“It’s a federal crime.”

“I know, Elizabeth, please.”