Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
“Standard policy,” he said.
“Nobody accesses these files without your physical signature in this room.
You’re the only authorized party.”
“Not even my parents,” I said.
“Not my sister.
Nobody.”
He looked at my faded flannel shirt, then back up at my face.
“Your family has banked here for forty years,” he said.