Chapter 3 - WHAT I HAD GIVEN HIM
Marisol closed her office door.
“Tell me what you allowed him to do.”
The distinction hurt more than the number.
After my wrist surgery the previous winter, Harrison had paid bills for me online.
I gave him my login and debit card because typing was difficult and driving was impossible for several weeks.
“Utilities. Groceries when I made a list. My physical therapy bill.”
“Did you give him the money in this account?”
“No.”
“Did you agree to these purchases?”
“No.”
She did not promise a refund.
She explained that the bank would review what happened, including the access I had given him.
We disabled the old card, changed my credentials, and removed a phone number that was not mine from the contact settings.
Harrison’s number.
When she asked where statements should go, I nearly laughed.
“To me,” I said.
“Apparently we need to start there.”
Outside, I sat in my car with the printed pages across my knees.
My husband, David, and I had built that emergency fund a little at a time.
Overtime pay.
Tax refunds.
The money from his old fishing boat after he died.
Sloan had worn part of it on her shoulder.
I called Harrison.
“Did you use my savings?”
Silence.
Then traffic noise.
“I’m at work.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Seventeen thousand eight hundred and forty dollars is very specific.”
He exhaled.
“We were going to put it back.”
My hands went cold.
“We?”
“Don’t make it sound like that.”
“Like what happened?”
He lowered his voice.
“Sloan thought you were helping us.”
“And what did you think?”
No answer.
I told him I wanted an explanation at seven, then hung up before he could turn my grief into a scheduling problem.
At home, an envelope from a real estate office lay on the entry table beneath Sloan’s sunglasses.
It was addressed to Harrison at my house.
I did not open it.
I simply moved it aside to put down my keys.
Something flat slipped from beneath it.
A business card.
On the back, in Sloan’s neat handwriting, were three words and a time.
Friday. Walk-through. 10.
I looked around the hallway David had painted twice because I had chosen the wrong shade of yellow.
May you like
Then I turned the card over.
Under the agent’s name were the words Residential Sales.
