Actually laughed.
It was the kind of laugh that comes out when your mind rejects a fact before your heart understands it.
“No,” I said. “That account should have around one hundred eighty-seven thousand dollars.”
There was more typing.
A longer silence.
“I understand,” she said. “Let me review the transaction history.”
I stood straighter.
The kitchen seemed to sharpen around me. The fruit bowl with three spotted bananas. The chipped mug near the sink. The magnet on the fridge from Tyler’s one semester at Western Michigan before he came home and called college a “bad fit for his energy.” The television murmuring through the wall from the living room, where my mother was watching renovation shows before noon.
The woman came back on the line.
“I’m seeing multiple withdrawals over the last eight months,” she said. “Nine thousand dollars on November fourth. Twelve thousand on December nineteenth. Fifteen thousand on January seventh. There are several others. The largest withdrawal was forty thousand dollars in March.”
