Chapter 6 - The Bank Teller’s Pause
The bank was quiet, smelling of polished wood and old paper. I walked up to the counter and requested the account modification from a senior teller who knew me well.
She pulled up our joint emergency file on her terminal, clicking through the menus with practiced ease. But halfway through the process, her movements suddenly stopped. Her cheerful professional smile vanished, replaced by a look of profound confusion and unease.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the monitor far longer than protocol required. When she finally lifted her gaze to look back at me, her voice had dropped to a cautious whisper.
“Ms. Bennett,” she asked carefully, “have you been reviewing the recent activity on this account?”
My stomach tightened into a painful, icy knot. A sudden wave of premonition washed over me. “What activity?” I managed to ask, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears.
Without answering verbally, the teller turned the heavy monitor toward my side of the glass so I could see the transaction history.
May you like
Rows of figures scrolled down the screen—massive, systematic withdrawals executed over the past eight months. Five thousand here. Ten thousand there. A staggering total of over eighty-four thousand dollars drained from the safety net Daniel had built for our golden years.
My breath caught in my throat. Harrison hadn't just been struggling to find a job; he had been systematically looting our life savings behind my back, likely funding the lavish lifestyle Sloan flaunted right in front of my face.
