My father flung my grandmother’s savings book onto her open grave as if it were worthless.

Something inside me went still.

I slipped the book into my coat.

Celeste smiled sweetly. “Poor girl. Always so dramatic.”

Mark stepped in my way as I turned to leave. “Where are you going?”

I looked past him toward the iron cemetery gate.

“To the bank.”

He laughed. My father laughed too, loud and cruel, as thunder rolled across the graveyard.

But Mr. Bell did not laugh.

He watched me walk away with the look of a man who had just seen a spark land in gasoline.

Part 2
The bank was nearly empty when I arrived, rainwater dripping onto the marble floor.