The Night Eleanor Switched On the Clippers Was the Night Three Years of House Payments Came to an End

“Thank you so much, Brenda,” I said.

“Now go deal with the bank,” she said.

At two thirty I stood at the polished oak counter of the commercial bank’s main downtown branch.

The branch manager, a tall man named Mr.

Henderson with gray hair and sharp blue eyes, looked over my ID cards and the copy of the court order Frank had certified.

“Mrs.

Vance, you’re asking to immediately unlink joint checking account four-eight-nine-two,” Mr.

Henderson said.