“It means I was listed as custodian when the account was opened. Your grandmother changed it later.”
“Where?”
Mom pointed toward the folder.
“Keep looking.”
My hands shook as I turned the pages.
There was an amendment dated shortly after my twelfth birthday. It removed Mom as custodian and listed Grandma instead.
At the bottom was Grandma’s signature.
Beside it was a bank employee’s stamp.
For the first time since arriving, I felt a small piece of certainty return.
“Why did the bank say Mom withdrew the money?” I asked.
Mr. Ellis was reading the document closely.
“Because someone used her credentials or because the bank’s records identify the person who initiated the transfer. We need the account access logs.”
Mom stepped closer.
“I told you I didn’t take that money.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you give anyone your login information?”
“No.”
“Did Daniel?”
“No,” Daniel said.
I turned to him.
“Then how did your name get connected to the other transfer?”
“It didn’t,” he replied. “My name was on the protected account because your grandmother asked me to open it.”
“Where is it now?”
“I don’t know.”
My patience frayed.
“Everyone keeps saying they don’t know.”
Daniel accepted the accusation without protest.
“I understand.”
He looked toward the laptop.
“Your grandmother believed the answer was in there.”
Mr. Ellis lifted the sleeve.
“Does it require a password?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know it?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Your grandmother gave me one clue.”
“What clue?”
“She said it was something you and she shared.”
I looked at the old laptop.
The answer came immediately.
“Cinnamon.”
Grandma’s Sunday rolls. The smell that had greeted us through all my childhood.
I entered the word.
The screen opened.
No password request appeared.
Instead, a folder sat alone on the desktop.
Its name was a date.
The date was the day Mom had sent me the photograph of her new car.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Mom whispered, “No.”
I clicked the folder.
Inside was one audio file and a scanned document.
Mr. Ellis leaned closer.
“Play the recording,” Daniel said.
I opened the audio file.
There was a burst of static. Then Grandma’s voice filled the storage unit, thinner than I remembered but unmistakable.
“If you are hearing this, I was not able to explain everything in person. I’m sorry, my precious girl. I wanted to protect you from a truth that was still unfolding.”
