Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
We drove into Oak Ridge in George’s green John Deere tractor-green pickup truck. The town was quiet, the Monday morning traffic consisting of a few farm vehicles and the county mail delivery jeep.
The Oak Ridge Savings and Loan was cool inside, the hum of the window air conditioners filling the small lobby with a steady, mechanical drone. The bank manager, Harold Gentry, was a thin man with a bald head who had handled my father’s farm loans for thirty years.
He welcomed us into his small office at the back of the building, sliding two heavy glass ashtrays to the side of his desk.
“George, Andrew,” Gentry said, motioning toward two leather chairs. “I have the paperwork for the bond redemption right here. We were just waiting on the final signature from the state office.”
George sat down, his hands resting flat on his knees. “We need to cancel it, Harold.”
Gentry paused, his gold pen hovering over the desk. “Cancel it? George, we already processed the federal decertification on Friday afternoon. The treasury department has already cleared the transaction.”
