“Is there a hold-up with the transfer, Mrs. Gable?” I asked.
She looked at me, her eyes shifting to the security guard standing near the double glass doors before returning to her monitor.
“The joint account is flagged, Sarah,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, cautious murmur that barely carried across the counter. “The authorization was revoked at eight this morning by your father’s estate lawyers.”
My thumb slid to the hem of my coat pocket, feeling the small, hard spheres of my mother’s pearl earrings through the thin fabric. “There must be a mistake. My personal checking is linked to that account for my nursing school deposits.”
“It is all under the estate trust,” Mrs. Gable said, sliding a printed ledger slip across the counter. “The balance reads zero.”
The paper in my hand was light, but it felt heavy enough to drop through the floor. The ink was still fresh, showing a neat row of dashes where my tuition funds had been yesterday. It was the money my mother had set aside, a quiet promise of independence that had survived her passing.
“Did my father sign this himself?” I asked.
