The laptop was still open, the screen cast in a pale light across the dark wood. I logged back into the bank website and began to click through the older monthly summaries that did not require the secondary security code.
The transfers had not happened all at once.
The first withdrawal was ten thousand dollars, completed on a Tuesday in late August.
The second was twelve thousand dollars, taken out in the middle of September.
The third was ten thousand dollars, transferred just last week, on the day Troy said he was going to the hardware store in Toledo.
Each transfer had been sent to an external account labeled only with a series of sixteen digits and the prefix of a bank located in Boston, Massachusetts.
We did not know anyone in Boston. Our daughter Hannah lived in Columbus, and Marcus was only twenty minutes away in the township.
I stared at the three digital line items, the dates matching days when Troy had been uncharacteristically quiet, days when he had spent hours in the garage with the door closed.
