He traced his finger down the column of hand-written figures until he stopped near the bottom of the page.
“Rowan’s trust account had a five thousand dollar withdrawal on the first of September,” Caleb said, his voice flat and precise.
I leaned closer, squinting at the neat numbers my late father had started forty years ago. “She might have needed it for the wedding dress.”
“The dress was paid for in July,” Caleb said, his finger staying flat on the paper. “This withdrawal was made in cash at the branch on Clearmont Avenue.”
“We do not know she gave it to him,” I said, adjusting my silver watch strap.
Caleb closed the ledger with a heavy thud, his knuckles resting on the blue cover. “Who else would need five thousand dollars in physical bills on a Tuesday afternoon?”
“She has her own savings, Caleb,” I said, though my voice felt thin.
“This is not her savings, Mom. This is the principal,” he said, tapping his knuckles against the edge of the mahogany table. “She had to sign a special release form to get this cash out.”
