My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
“I know,” I said.
She printed the slip and slid it toward me along with a blue ballpoint pen. I signed my name on the line, my fingers leaving a faint smudge of moisture on the white paper.
Brenda took the slip back and reached into her drawer for the check stock.
“This will just take a minute to clear the manager’s desk,” she said, leaving her terminal open.
I looked at the glowing screen. Below my personal savings balance, my grandfather’s old joint investment account was listed, the one my father still had his name on from when I was in college.
“Is there any activity on the second account?” I asked, pointing toward the screen.
“There was an inquiry yesterday,” Brenda said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Someone called asking for the balance, but they did not have the PIN.”
“Did they leave a name?” I asked.
“The notes say it was a female caller,” she said.
She did not say anything else because the assistant manager walked over to initial the cashier’s check. He handed the gray slip of paper to me with a polite nod, and I slipped it into my coat pocket.
