The top statement was dated October of last year.

I turned the page, looking for November, but the next page was from August.

I flipped through the whole stack twice.

May, June, July, and August were right there, printed on thick white paper.

September, October, November, and December were completely gone.

“Did Dad move his banking folders somewhere else when he got sick?” I asked.

Raymond stopped taping a box lid shut and looked up.

“Victor never moved a folder in his life.