I got my first credit card at 22, just to build credit while juggling university and saving for a car. I barely used it — once for textbooks, once for groceries. Only my dad knew; I didn’t trust my mom to keep it quiet. I was right. Days later, my older brother Mark texted me: “Heard you got a card. Can we borrow it?” I said no. He and his wife Kendra were both unemployed again and had a long history of borrowing and never repaying.
Next thing I knew, they showed up at my house uninvited, trying to guilt-trip me in front of my mom, who naturally took their side. I stood firm. No meant no. But a few days later, my credit card vanished. I remembered leaving my wallet in the kitchen when they visited. My gut said they took it. I called the bank and found hundreds in charges electronics, gas, even pizza. I froze the card, reported it stolen, and started the fraud investigation.
