PART 3
My mouth went dry.
“Why would you ask me that?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she stood and walked to a filing cabinet against the wall.
“I’ve worked at this branch for twenty-eight years,” she said. “Your grandfather banked here for most of his adult life.”
My heart began beating harder.
“You knew Grandpa?”
“I knew Henry Harper.”
She opened the cabinet.
“And I remember something unusual about him.”
She pulled out an old folder.
It was so worn that the edges had turned gray.
She placed it on the desk but didn’t open it.
“About thirty years ago, your grandfather came in with a young woman.”
I stared at her.
“Who?”
“I don’t know her name.”
“Was it my mother?”
Mrs. Whitaker looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
I swallowed.
“My mother died when I was twenty-nine.”
“I remember the woman being upset,” she continued. “Henry was trying to calm her down. They sat in the office for nearly an hour.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
The word landed between us.
“What kind of money?”
“That’s what I don’t know.”
She opened the folder.
Inside were copies of documents so old that the ink had faded.
I leaned forward.
At the top of one page was Grandpa Henry’s name.
Underneath it was a date.
October 14, 1984.
My fingers went cold.
That was the same year as the oldest bond.
Mrs. Whitaker tapped the page.
“These savings bonds weren’t purchased randomly.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were part of a recurring purchase arrangement.”
“For whom?”
She looked at me.
“For you.”
I couldn’t breathe for a second.
“For me?”
She nodded.
“Your grandfather opened an account structure connected to these bonds when you were very young.”
“But the bonds say Henry Harper or Nancy Lee Harper.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“That is the part I can’t tell you until I verify the records.”
I stared at the stack.
Seventeen bonds.
Seventeen pieces of paper I had almost thrown into a trash bag because Dale had called them junk.
“What are they worth?”
Mrs. Whitaker gave me a strange look.
“That’s not the first question I’d be asking.”
“What should I be asking?”
She leaned back.
“Why did someone try to make sure you never found them?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew the answer was probably sitting at the other end of the family.
Dale.
Pam.
Maybe Alan.
Maybe all of them.
Mrs. Whitaker picked up the phone.
“I need to speak with our records department.”
She dialed.
While she waited, she said, “Do not sign these over to anyone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t give them to a lawyer who approaches you through the family.”
I frowned.
“Why would a lawyer approach me?”
She didn’t answer.
The phone clicked.
She began speaking quietly.
I heard dates.
Account numbers.
A phrase that made my stomach tighten.
“Yes. Harper. Henry J. Harper.”
Then silence.
She wrote something down.
“You’re certain?”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
She hung up.
I waited.
“What did they say?”
She looked at me for several seconds.
Then she said, “There is a notation.”
“What kind?”
“Beneficiary restriction.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone placed instructions on the account that weren’t part of the ordinary bond registration.”
My heart started pounding.
“Who?”
She looked down at the page.
“The restriction names you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Dale tell me to burn them?”
Mrs. Whitaker’s expression changed.
“Who’s Dale?”
“My cousin.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
“I called him yesterday.”
“And?”
“He told me to burn the bonds.”
She went very still.
“Exactly what did he say?”
