I didn't change my clothes.
I didn't finish my lunch.
I simply put on my shoes, picked up my handbag, and took my keys from the small bowl beside the front door.
Before leaving, I looked once more at Kevin's photograph.
He was smiling.
Tara was smiling.
They looked like two people who had absolutely nothing to worry about.
I locked the door behind me.
The drive to the bank took less than twenty minutes.
I had used that branch for years.
I knew the parking lot.
I knew the entrance.
I knew the familiar sound of the automatic doors opening.
And I knew Carol.
Her full name was Carol, and she had been the branch manager for eleven years.
She had helped me with Earl's accounts after he died.
She had explained paperwork I didn't understand.
She had answered questions without making me feel foolish.
Most importantly, she had always treated me like someone capable of making her own decisions.
That mattered to me.
When I walked inside, one of the employees greeted me.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Dalton."
"Good afternoon."
"How can we help you today?"
"I need to speak with Carol."
"Is she expecting you?"
"No. But it's important."
The employee looked at my face.
Then she nodded.
"Please have a seat. I'll let her know."
I sat near the reception desk.
My handbag rested on my lap.
I kept my phone inside it.
I didn't want to keep looking at the photograph.
But I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Forty thousand dollars.
I had spent years saving money carefully.
Earl and I had made sacrifices when Kevin was young.
We had chosen practical things over expensive ones.
We had saved for emergencies.
We had planned for retirement.
We had never been wealthy people who spent without thinking.
That money represented years of careful decisions.
It represented the mornings Earl left for work before sunrise.
It represented the holidays we didn't take because we wanted to build something secure.
And now my son was standing on a cruise ship thanking me for money I had never given him.
A few minutes later, Carol appeared.
"Mrs. Dalton?"
I stood.
She smiled, but the expression disappeared when she noticed how serious I looked.
"Is everything all right?"
"I need to talk to you privately."
"Of course. Come with me."
She led me into her office.
It was a familiar room.
There was a desk near the window.
A computer monitor.
A heavy plastic telephone.
Two chairs for customers.
I had sat in one of those chairs many times.
Usually, I came in with a question about a statement or a payment.
Not that day.
Carol closed the door.
"Please sit down."
I placed my handbag beside my chair.
Then I looked directly at her.
"Carol, I need you to check something for me."
"Certainly."
"I want to see every withdrawal and transfer from my account over the last ninety days."
She nodded.
"Is there a particular transaction you're concerned about?"
"Yes. But I want to see everything."
She turned toward her computer.
"All right."
I watched as she entered my information.
The screen changed.
She clicked through several sections.
Then she began opening the transaction history.
"Let me bring up the full activity."
I leaned forward slightly.
The numbers appeared in rows.
Dates.
Descriptions.
Amounts.
Account information.
At first, Carol moved through the screen without saying anything.
Then she stopped.
She moved the mouse.
Clicked again.
And scrolled.
Her expression changed.
I noticed it immediately.
She wasn't looking at the screen the way someone looks at an ordinary account statement.
She was studying something.
Something that had surprised her.
"What is it?" I asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she scrolled back up.
Then she scrolled down again.
I watched her face.
The color seemed to leave it.
"Mrs. Dalton…"
Her voice was different.
"What?"
She looked at the screen again.
"Have you authorized any large transfers recently?"
"No."
"None at all?"
"None."
She turned slightly toward me.
"Are you certain?"
I looked at her.
"Carol, I know when I give away eight thousand dollars."
She stopped.
I could tell she understood.
Then she turned the monitor so I could see it.
There were four transactions.
Four transfers.
The first was dated June 3.
The amount was eight thousand dollars.
The second was dated June 19.
Twelve thousand dollars.
The third was dated July 8.
Another twelve thousand dollars.
The fourth was dated July 22.
Eight thousand dollars.
I stared.
Eight thousand.
Twelve thousand.
Twelve thousand.
Eight thousand.
I added them in my head.
Forty thousand.
The same amount Kevin had thanked me for.
For a moment, the numbers didn't seem real.
I looked at the screen again.
"Those are my transfers?"
Carol nodded slowly.
"They came from your account."
"Where did they go?"
She clicked on the transaction details.
An account number appeared.
I didn't recognize it.
I had never seen it on any statement.
I had never written it down.
I had never given anyone permission to send my money there.
"Who owns that account?"
Carol studied the information.
"I'm going to check the receiving account details."
I sat back.
My hands were cold.
There was something especially frightening about seeing a loss written down so neatly.
The dates were precise.
The amounts were precise.
There was no confusion.
The money had left my account.
And it had left in pieces.
Not all at once.
Someone had taken it in four separate transactions.
I looked at Carol.
"How could that happen?"
She took a breath.
"Mrs. Dalton, these transfers were authorized through our telephone banking service."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Someone contacted the bank by phone and requested the transfers."
"Someone?"
"Yes."
"Using my account?"
Carol nodded.
"Your account information was provided during the calls."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Whoever called had my information?"
"That's what it appears to show."
I looked down at my hands.
Then I asked the question that mattered most.
"What information?"
Carol turned back to the computer.
"The caller supplied your account number, your Social Security number, and the answers to your security questions."
I didn't move.
My security questions.
I knew those questions.
I had answered them when the account was established.
They were personal questions.
Questions I had assumed would be difficult for anyone else to answer.
My mother's maiden name.
The street where I lived when I was a child.
The name of my first dog.
I swallowed.
"Those are private."
"Yes, Mrs. Dalton."
"Nobody should know those answers."
Carol didn't respond immediately.
She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
"Someone had enough information to pass the verification process."
I looked toward the office door.
The bank was continuing as usual outside.
I could hear people talking.
A printer running.
A telephone ringing somewhere.
Ordinary sounds.
But inside that room, my life had changed.
I tried to remember the last time I had written down those answers.
Then I remembered.
The filing cabinet.
The small handwritten card.
My mother's maiden name.
The childhood street.
My first dog's name.
All written in blue ink.
I remembered exactly where I had put it.
And then I remembered Tara.
Four hours.
Four hours inside that room.
I closed my eyes.
I could see her standing beside the cabinet.
I could hear her saying she wanted to make things easier for me.
I could see the neat folders.
The newly written labels.
The papers she had moved around.
I had trusted her.
I had allowed her into the one place where I kept information that should never have been available to someone else.
When I opened my eyes, Carol was watching me.
"Mrs. Dalton, are you feeling all right?"
I nodded.
But I wasn't.
I was trying to put the pieces together without allowing my emotions to take control.
I didn't want to accuse anyone without proof.
I didn't want to make a mistake.
And I certainly didn't want to do something that would make it easier for whoever had taken the money to escape responsibility.
"Carol, I need to know exactly where those transfers went."
"Of course."
She returned to the account details.
The first three transactions had been processed through the same receiving account.
The fourth had gone there too.
The amounts matched.
The dates matched.
Everything pointed to the same destination.
"Was this account opened recently?" I asked.
Carol looked at another section of the screen.
"It appears to have been opened in May."
May.
That was the same month Kevin had asked me to add his name to my checking account.
I stared at her.
"May?"
"Yes."
"Do you have the opening date?"
She checked.
Then she nodded.
"It was opened during the first half of May."
I couldn't speak.
I remembered Kevin sitting at my kitchen table.
I remembered his careful voice.
Just in case, Mom.
I remembered Tara agreeing with him.
I remembered refusing.
I had thought the conversation was finished.
But someone had apparently found another way.
I leaned forward.
"Carol, whose account is it?"
She didn't answer immediately.
She looked at the monitor.
Then she opened another screen.
I could hear the soft clicking of her keyboard.
She stopped typing.
Her face changed again.
This time, there was something close to disbelief in her expression.
"Mrs. Dalton…"
I gripped the edge of my chair.
"What?"
"I need to verify something."
"Please do."
She checked the information one more time.
Then she looked back at me.
And I knew I wasn't going to like what she said.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: Four Transfers Had Taken Everything I Thought Was Safe, But the Name on the Receiving Account Made It Even Worse
I Thought My Son Only Wanted to Help Me, Until I Remembered What His Wife Had Been Doing Inside My House
Part 2 of 20
