Aaron was reading over my shoulder. “Does that mean there’s more money somewhere?”
“Only one way to find out,” I said.
The Morning I Went to the Bank Alone
I went by myself. I didn’t tell the children what I was doing specifically because I didn’t know yet what I would find and I wasn’t going to bring them hope I couldn’t verify.
I told the woman at the bank that I was inquiring about my son’s account. That he had passed away ten years ago and I had recently found this account number in his belongings. I laid down a copy of his death certificate and gave her the number.
She typed it in.
Then she frowned at her screen.
“Ma’am, are you certain that’s the correct account number? Our records show this account is still active.”
I looked at her. “I’m sorry — what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means there’s been recent activity on this account.”
I drove home in a state that I would describe as something beyond shock — the specific, strange calm that sometimes settles over a person when something is so unexpected that the mind simply cannot produce an adequate emotional response in real time.
When I walked through the front door, all seven of them were waiting in the hallway.
