Chapter 10
The bank branch on Main smelled like new carpet and coffee that had been on too long. I sat in one of the low chairs by the window and Sophie's sneakers squeaked against the vinyl when Roman tried to keep her still with a coloring book the teller had given her. He didn't touch me, didn't sit too close. He'd waited in the truck until I waved him in, and that mattered more than anything he could have said.
When the manager called my name, I left Sophie with Roman and followed her into the glass office. She was maybe forty, with a neat bob and a nameplate that said Diane Keller.
"You're Nora Ellis," she said, and slid a folder across the desk. "You requested the inquiry on inbound transfers tied to your name and your daughter."
I nodded. My hands were cold.
She opened the folder. Inside were thirty-six printed statements, each flagged with a yellow tab. "We didn't find any deposits to your personal checking in the last thirty-six months from the sender you named. Not one. What we did find is a recurring wire, fifty thousand dollars, on the fifteenth of every month, to an account ending in 4410. It's titled Helena Ellis Foundation. Helena is sole signatory."
I stared at the numbers. 50,000. 50,000. 50,000. All the way down the column.
"That's my mother's foundation," I said. My voice sounded thin.
Diane kept her face even. "The sender is listed as R. Marris LLC. That's consistent with what you gave us."
Thirty-six months. Eighteen hundred thousand dollars. None of it had ever hit my mailbox. While I'd been stretching Sophie's cardigan an extra winter and telling the school office I'd have the activity fee next week.
I asked if she could print one for me. She nodded and pushed the button on her printer. "Do you want to talk about next steps?" she said.
"What are they without making it bigger than it is right now?"
She glanced at the door where Roman was visible through the glass, Sophie leaning into his arm. "You can keep this as a civil matter for now. Talk to the clerk over at the county building. They can tell you how to document and preserve without filing criminally. You don't have to file a police report or a lawsuit today to protect yourself."
The county clerk's office was two blocks over, upstairs from the recorder, with a line and a humming fluorescent light. The civil clerk was an older man in a county polo who didn't rush me. He looked at the copies Diane had given me and didn't act surprised.
"This happens," he said. "Foundation account but personal control. You can request a formal accounting. You can ask a judge for a freeze if you show the funds were intended for a minor. But you don't have to file for that today either. Get your records in order. Keep copies outside the house. Don't sign anything Helena puts in front of you."
I felt Roman behind me, not speaking.
"Can she cut me off?" I asked. "We live in her house. The car is in her name."
The clerk looked at me steady. "She can try. She owns the property. But if you have the paper trail, it changes what a judge will look at later. If she locks you out or takes the car, document the time, keep the texts. Come back and we can discuss an emergency motion. You don't need to decide today."
I thanked him and folded the papers into my bag.
Helena was home when we pulled into the driveway. She stood on the porch in a pressed blouse and slacks, her makeup done, the bruise on her left cheek hidden under powder but still a faint yellow-purple at the edge when the light hit it. She didn't look at Roman. She looked at my bag.
"You went to the bank," she said as I got Sophie out of the backseat.
I didn't answer right away. Sophie ran past her into the house.
"Who told you to do that?" Helena said, her voice low enough not to carry to the street. "That manager had no right to release foundation information. That account is for charity work."
"It received fifty thousand every month for three years and I didn't see a dollar," I said. I kept my voice even. "The teller said you were the only signatory."
She stepped closer. "Those funds were structured for Sophie's future and for this family's standing. You wouldn't understand the expenses. Galas, donations, the house —"
"You told us it stopped," I said. "You told her father was dead."
Her eyes flicked to Roman standing by the truck. "You brought him to my house after I told you never to embarrass this family again."
Roman didn't move toward us. "This isn't about embarrassment, Helena."
She turned back to me, and her tone shifted, cooler, administrative. "Since you want to play investigator, you should know the house and the car are foundation assets. If you're going to make accusations and pull records, you can't continue to use foundation property as if nothing has changed. I'll need the car keys tonight. And you should make other arrangements by the end of the month."
The air left my chest. I felt the porch tilt. "Sophie rides to school in that car."
"Then you'll figure it out," she said, and went inside, closing the door soft behind her.
I stood there with my bag pressed against my hip, the bank papers creasing inside. After a minute Roman came up the walk. He didn't touch the door.
"She knows," I said.
"Yeah," he said. "She's scared."
"She's going to put us out."
May you like
He looked at the house, then at my bag. "You have the proof now. Diane was right. We don't have to file today. But we need copies somewhere she can't touch. My place, a safe deposit, your friend's apartment. Whatever keeps Sophie covered if she follows through on the car."
I nodded. My throat was tight. Inside I could hear Sophie's cartoon playing and Helena's heels clicking across the marble entry. The papers in my bag felt heavier than they should have. Thirty-six tabs. Thirty-six months of rent and groceries and shoes I'd told my daughter we couldn't afford, all sitting in an account with Helena's name on it, funding chandeliers and white tablecloths while we ate at the kitchen counter.
