Before we left, the manager handed me a document.
“There is one more item,” she said. “Your grandmother submitted a written complaint shortly before her death. She named an employee she believed had mishandled information.”
I looked at the page.
Elaine Porter.
The investigator explained that Elaine had worked at the branch years earlier but had left six months before the transfer. She had not initiated the transactions. She had, however, accessed my grandmother’s file without a documented reason.
“She was dismissed,” the manager said. “The access occurred before the education account was redirected, but we cannot yet prove she shared the information with anyone.”
“Did she know my mother?” I asked.
“She knew both your mother and grandmother from the original account opening.”
Mom looked stricken.
“Elaine used to call me when Grandma had paperwork,” she said. “I thought she was helping.”
“She may have been,” Mr. Ellis said. “Or she may have crossed a line later. The investigation will determine that.”
On the drive home, Mom followed me in silence.
At the house, she stood by the kitchen table where we had sat that morning. The metal tin of letters remained there, the blue ribbon loose beside it.
“I called the girls,” she said.
I stopped.
“What did they say?”
“They’re coming over with Daniel.”
A knot formed in my stomach.
“You told them?”
“I told them the bank found unauthorized activity connected to old documents and devices. I didn’t accuse them.”
“Good.”
“I should have protected them from this.”
“You should have protected all of us from it.”
Mom nodded.
“I know.”
They arrived forty minutes later.
The older girl, Sophie, was nineteen. The younger, Lily, was seventeen. Both looked frightened, but neither seemed defensive. Daniel came in behind them and closed the door gently.
Mom asked them to sit.
I remained standing until Sophie spoke.
“I know why you called.”
Her voice trembled.
“Do you?” Mom asked.
“I think so.”
Lily looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She swallowed.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Sophie reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook.
“I wrote down everything I remember because I didn’t want to forget or say it wrong.”
She opened it.
“Last year, I was applying for jobs. Mom gave me copies of some documents. She said I could use the computer because my laptop was broken. I made an email address similar to Dad’s because I thought it would be easier to remember.”
