Kyle’s company had always been treated like a family miracle.
My parents called him a visionary. A genius. A future billionaire. They spoke about his business as if success were guaranteed simply because Kyle wanted it badly enough.
But behind the polished photos, the fake confidence, and the country club handshakes, there was nothing solid.
No real product. No serious revenue. No discipline.
Only borrowed money, inflated promises, and my stolen name holding the whole thing together.
The luxury cars, the private events, the expensive suits, the memberships, the vacations—all of it had been built on fraud. They had not simply taken my money. They had tried to turn my future into collateral for their vanity.
And the worst part was not even the debt.
It was the ease with which they had done it.
Like I had always belonged to them. Like my life was theirs to spend.