My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
Mr. Henderson, the branch manager who had handled my grandfather’s commercial accounts for twenty years, slid a thin blue folder across his desk. He tapped his index finger against the edge of the desk.
“She had a copy of the death certificate, Emily,” Mr. Henderson said, keeping his voice low. “But she did not have the letters of administration. I told her we could not release the ledger balances without them.”
“Which accounts did she ask for?” I asked.
“The primary farm ledger and the personal savings,” he said. “The savings account has been dormant since three years before Thomas passed. There is exactly forty-two thousand eight hundred dollars in it.”
“Did she leave a telephone number?”
Mr. Henderson looked down at a yellow slip of paper inside the folder. “She left a Riverside exchange number. And she was very insistent that the funds needed to be moved to a private trust account by Friday afternoon.”
“Did she have a power of attorney?”
“An old one from four years ago,” Mr. Henderson said. “It expired the moment your grandfather died. I explained that to her, but she became quite animated.”
