“What is this, Rosie?” I asked, turning it over in my hands.
She stopped folding a red fleece and looked at the book. Her heels lifted slightly off the carpet, a quick double bounce that she only did when she was excited or keeping a secret she liked.
“That is my new book,” she said.
I opened the cover. The pages inside were mostly empty, but on the first leaf, a single transaction was printed in neat purple ink from three days ago. It was an account opened at the Oak Creek Bank.
A slip of paper slipped out from between the pages and landed on the bed. I picked it up. It was a standard bank deposit slip, stamped by the teller. The amount printed on the line was exactly fifty thousand dollars.
The number was so large it did not seem real on the thin paper. Rosie did not have fifty thousand dollars, and my parents had never discussed transferring that kind of money to her.
“Did Ben go to the bank with you to set this up?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“Ben was working at the shop,” Rosie said, her heels coming back down to the carpet. “Daddy took me in his car.”
I adjusted my silver watch strap, sliding the metal band up and down my wrist. The metal felt cold against my skin. My father was a senior attorney who did nothing without a legal reason, yet he had never mentioned this account to me.
“I am going to keep this safe for you while we finish the clothes,” I said, slipping the ledger into my purse.
Rosie did not object. She simply picked up another sweater and went back to her sorting, her mind already moving on to the next task.
I drove to the bank in the early afternoon, the autumn wind blowing dry leaves across the asphalt. The Oak Creek Bank was a heavy stone building that had stood on the corner of Maple Street since the turn of the century. Its thick oak doors groaned as I pushed them open, stepping into the quiet, high-ceilinged lobby.
The high brass chandeliers cast long shadows across the marble floor, and the room smelled faintly of lemon oil and old paper.
A teller with a neat silver name tag that read Janice looked up and offered a polite nod.
“How can I help you today, Clara?” she asked.
I placed the black ledger on the counter and pushed it toward her.
“I need to check the details on this account,” I said. “My sister Rosie is the primary owner, but I need to know who else is authorized on it.”
Janice took the ledger, her fingers turning the single page. She tapped a few keys on her computer, her eyes scanning the screen. Her polite smile faded into something more guarded.
“I see the account here,” Janice said, lowering her voice. “But I cannot release any information regarding the secondary names or the source of the deposits.”
“I am her sister,” I said. “I handle her daily expenses.”
“I understand,” Janice said, sliding the ledger back across the marble. “But this is a restricted trust account. I would need your father’s signature to show you any of the transaction details.”
“My father is not the account holder,” I said.
