It had become something else.
Pine Lodge sat on the edge of town with faded paint and a flickering neon sign. The room was small and clean in the anonymous way of motel rooms everywhere: a bed, a chair, a table by the window. I set my suitcase on the luggage rack and sat on the edge of the mattress and let the quiet settle around me.
Then I opened my laptop.
Thirty years in banking means you understand systems, how they work and how to work within them. I knew every call I needed to make, in what order, to what effect.
Sunday morning I spread my documents across the small table: bank statements, insurance policies, account numbers, confirmation names. A general reviewing the map.
The first call went to First National Bank.
The representative confirmed the cancellation of the automatic mortgage payment on 847 Pine Street with professional efficiency. Written confirmation would arrive in three business days. I thanked her.
The second call removed Harry’s truck and Tiffany’s Honda from my insurance policy. Two hundred eighty dollars a month for vehicles I had never driven.
The credit cards required three separate calls. Tiffany was an authorized user on the Visa, the Mastercard, and the Costco card. Removing authorized user status would prevent new charges while the outstanding balances, charges I had not made, remained my legal responsibility to pay off. I paid them and removed her access.
By noon I had made eight calls.
