When my turn came, I handed the card to a young teller named Brielle. “I’d like to withdraw whatever is left,” I said quietly.
She smiled and began typing. Then her expression changed. Her fingers stopped.
She typed again. Turned the card over. Checked my identification. Then stared at the computer screen as though something couldn’t possibly be right.
“Could you confirm your full legal name for me?” she asked. I did. A strange feeling tightened in my stomach.
“My husband gave me that card five years ago,” I explained. “He said there were two thousand dollars on it.”
Brielle looked at me. Then back at the screen. “I need to get my branch manager.”
My hand tightened around the edge of the counter. For one horrible moment, I wondered whether Gerald had found some final way to embarrass me even after all these years.
A few minutes later, the branch manager, Mr. Pemberton, approached. He was carrying a sealed envelope.
The moment I saw the handwriting on the front, my breath caught. My name.
