Chapter 2: The Name on the Account
Beverly printed every page.
Thirty-six months.
Thirty-six deposits.
Thirty-six transfers out.
$280,800 gone.
I sat in that bank chair and did not move for a long moment.
"Mr.
Blake," Beverly said carefully, "this authorization form — do you recognize your signature?"
I looked at it.
The handwriting was close.
Very close.
But the date on the form was from two years ago — the same week I had been hospitalized for a knee surgery.
I had been sedated for most of it.
I had never signed anything that week.
"No," I said.
"That is not my signature."
Beverly lowered her voice.
"Then someone signed it for you."
I asked her to make a second copy of everything and lock the originals in the branch safe.
She didn't ask why.
She just did it.
On my way home, my phone rang.
It was Jared.
"Dad, Lauren told me you seemed really disoriented this morning.
She's worried.
She wants to move forward with the paperwork this week."
I kept my voice slow and soft.
"That sounds fine, son."
There was a pause.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm just tired," I said.
"Tell Lauren not to worry."
I hung up.
Then I made a different call.
To a man I hadn't spoken to in eleven years.
May you like
My former colleague at the auditing firm.
Now a federal fraud investigator.
