I knew, because the postal service’s informed-delivery feature still forwarded me scans of the mail I had once managed for them.

My parents, so used to my handling everything, likely threw the envelopes with the bank’s logo straight in the trash — junk mail, or something I had surely already taken care of.

They had spent six years not looking at where the money came from.

They did not start looking now, not until it was far too late.

Chapter 22 — Day Twenty-Five

Then came the morning of the twenty-fifth day.