Chapter 3 - The Account Ending in 4421Carla asked whether I wanted Dana to remain in the room.
I almost said no.
Then I looked at my mother.
Forty five.
Tired.
Smaller than I remembered from before Franklin.
“Stay.”
She sat.
Officer Ruiz asked whether Franklin had access to my bank accounts.
“Only the one my paycheck goes into.”
“How?”
“He helped me open it when I started at Mercer Freight.”
I was eighteen.
Franklin said direct deposit would be easier if we used the same bank as the business.
The account was in my name.
At least I thought it was.
Dana looked at me.
“Franklin was on it too.”
I turned.
“What?”
“As an authorized signer.”
“He told me he could only see payroll deposits.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Ruiz asked us not to access anything that might compromise evidence, but I could review accounts legally mine.
Carla helped me get my phone from the bedside drawer.
I opened banking app.
Account ending 4421.
Balance:
$184.63.
My paycheck had arrived Friday.
$873 after taxes.
Where did it go?
Transactions:
MERCER HOUSEHOLD TRANSFER: $600.
MFS EMPLOYEE ADVANCE REPAYMENT: $89.
MERCER AUTO: $0? Maybe not.
Phone bill.
Food.
Normal.
But the employee advance confused me.
“I never took an advance.”
Dana leaned closer.
“How long has that been coming out?”
I scrolled.
Every paycheck.
$89.
For eight months.
Total:
Over $1,500.
Ruiz asked:
“What does Franklin say it’s for?”
“Safety equipment and my truck repairs.”
“Does your employer normally charge workers for safety equipment?”
“I don’t know.”
Then a larger deduction every third month:
MFS BENEFIT REIMBURSEMENT: $240.
“What benefit?”
No idea.
Ruiz said:
“Save screenshots.”
I did.
Then I noticed something else.
The account title at top:
ETHAN WALKER / FRANKLIN MERCER JT.
Joint.
Not authorized signer.
Joint owner.
My chest tightened.
“I never made him joint owner.”
Dana whispered:
“He said it was temporary.”
“Mom.”
“You were eighteen and just starting work. He said the bank needed an adult with established history.”
“I was an adult.”
“I know.”
“Did you sign?”
“I don’t remember.”
She looked ashamed.
Then Ruiz asked:
“Do you have another account?”
“Not really.”
Savings?
Franklin told me I was bad with money and should focus on paying my share at home.
I had maybe $1,200 in a separate savings app.
That was it.
At nineteen, after a year of full time work, I had less than two thousand dollars.
Franklin constantly reminded me how expensive I was.
Ruiz wrote.
Then Dana whispered:
“There should have been more.”
I turned.
“What?”
She looked at Officer Ruiz instead of me.
“My first husband left something for Ethan.”
My biological father.
Michael Walker.
He died when I was eleven.
A loading dock accident at a manufacturing company.
I remembered funeral.
Insurance people.
Adults speaking quietly.
Then life moved on.
“What did he leave?”
Dana’s voice broke.
“A trust.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly now.”
“Mom.”
“Originally around two hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
The room disappeared.
“What?”
“It was life insurance and part of the wrongful death settlement.”
I laughed once because the alternative was screaming.
“You told me Dad left enough for community college.”
“He did.”
“You told me it couldn’t be touched until I was twenty five.”
Dana looked down.
“That’s what Franklin told me after we met with the bank.”
“What does that mean?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“The original documents said you became primary beneficiary at eighteen.”
My incision hurt as I tried to sit straighter.
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer came out in a whisper.
Ruiz asked:
“When did Franklin first become involved with the trust?”
Dana wiped her face.
“About eighteen months ago.”
Six months after he married her.
Then my phone buzzed.
An automated email from a bank I barely recognized.
MIDWEST HERITAGE TRUST SERVICES.
Subject:
FAILED CONTACT ATTEMPT.
May you like
We have been unable to reach you regarding beneficiary verification for account ending 9038.
I had never seen that account number in my life.
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