Her voice became strained. “You’re making this sound criminal.”
“I’m not making it sound like anything. I’m asking the bank to investigate.”
“You’re going to involve the police?”
“I haven’t decided.”
That was not entirely true. I had already spoken to someone.
The evening before, after leaving the bank, I had driven directly to the small law office of Mr. Ellis, a family friend of Grandma’s. He had helped her update her will years earlier and had sat beside me during the first meeting with the hospice coordinator.
I had shown him the bank statement.
He studied every page without interrupting me.
When he reached the last withdrawal, he adjusted his glasses and asked, “Did your mother ever have access to your account?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she have your identification?”
“She had a copy of my birth certificate when I was younger. Grandma kept most of my documents in a locked drawer.”
“Was your mother listed as a custodian, joint owner, or authorized signer?”
“The teller said she wasn’t listed as an owner.”
“That matters.”
He had called the bank with me present and asked them to preserve all records connected to the account. The bank would not release every detail without formal authorization, but they confirmed something important.
The withdrawals had not been made in person.
They had been initiated through an online banking profile created using my information.
The account had been opened when I was eleven.
At the time, I had no email address, no phone of my own, and no idea what a login was.
“Can your mother access it?” Mr. Ellis had asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Then we find out.”
Now, with Mom still breathing angrily into the phone, I said, “The bank has frozen the remaining accounts connected to my identity until they finish reviewing what happened.”
“You froze my accounts?”
“I didn’t freeze anything. They did.”
“You’re trying to punish me.”
“I’m trying to understand where my money went.”
“You always thought you were better than me.”
That accusation came so suddenly that I almost laughed, though there was nothing funny about it.
“Mom, I spent years trying to be good enough for you to come back.”
Her breathing changed.
I continued before I lost my courage.
“When you left me with Grandma, I thought you were coming back. Every time the phone rang, I thought it might be you. Every time a car slowed down outside, I thought you had finally changed your mind.”
