Nineteen Thousand Dollars, a Forged Signature, and a Flight to the Dominican Republic
He saw me walk through the glass door, and his face did what a face does when it has bad news and is looking for a gentle way to hand it over.
“Mrs.
Whitfield,” he said.
“Joint savings.”
“I know.”
“Tell me.”
He turned his monitor sideways so I could read it.
The balance was zero dollars and zero cents.