My Mother Fed the Man Behind Our House for Twenty Years—After Her Funeral, I Found Out He Was Family
“Your mother would have liked how you put that.”
I gave a sad smile.
“She should have taught me earlier.”
PART 6
Three days after the funeral, I went to the bank where Patrick had worked for close to forty years.
I didn’t go to accuse him across a teller’s counter.
I went to ask the kind of dull, practical questions that grief had made me forget: which accounts were Joanne’s, which papers belonged to the estate, and who had the right to see them.
The manager, a patient woman named Meredith Cole, told me I would need formal paperwork before the bank could discuss any account details.
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