wasn’t to some hotel and B1254 a room there, and this was how she would have to think of him. The weirdest doubts crossed Karen’s mind.
“JP Morgan Chase. Fortieth and Third Avenue branch,” a woman on the line answered.
Karen exhaled, relief mixed with a little shame. But as long as she’d gone this far, she might as well go all the way. “I’d like to speak with Megan Walsh, please.”
“One moment, please.”
It turned out Megan Walsh was the manager in charge of the Private Banking Department there. And after she’d explainedthat her husband was now deceased and that Karen was the sole beneficiary of his estate, B1254 turned out to be a safe-deposit box that had been opened at the branch a year before.
In Charlie’s name.
Karen drove into town the following morning. The bank was a large, high-ceilinged branch, only a few blocks from Charlie’s office. Megan Walsh was an attractive woman in her thirties, with long dark hair and dressed in a tasteful suit. She took Karen back to her cubicle office along a row with the other managers.
“I remember Mr. Friedman,” she told Karen, her lips pressed tightly in sympathy. “I opened the account with him myself. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“I was just piecing through some of his things,” Karen said. “This wasn’t even listed as part of his estate. I never even knew it existed.”
The bank manager perused Karen’s copy of Charlie’s death certificate and the letter of execution from the estate. She asked her a couple of questions: First, the name of their dog. Karen smiled. (It turned out he had listed Sasha.) His mother’s maiden name. Then she took Karen back into a private room near the vault.
“The account was opened about eighteen months ago, last September.” Ms. Walsh handed Karen the paperwork. The signature on the box was plainly Charlie’s.
Probably just business stuff, Karen assumed. She’d see what was in there and turn whatever it was over to Saul.
Megan Walsh excused herself and returned shortly with a large metal container.
“Feel free to take as much time as you need,” she explained. She placed it on the table, unlocking the clasp in Karen’s presence with her own duplicate key. “If there’s anything you need, or if you’d care to transfer anything into an account, I’ll be happy to help you when you’re done.”
“Thank you.” Karen nodded.
She hesitated over it for a few moments, after the door hadclosed and she was left alone with this piece of her husband he had never shared with her.
There was the shock of seeing his face up on that screen. Now this box that had never been mentioned as part of the estate or even come up in any of Charlie’s business files. She ran her hand a little cautiously along the metal sides. What could he be keeping from her in here?
Karen drew open the large container from the top and peered inside.
Her eyes stretched wide.
The box was filled with neatly arranged bundles of cash. Wrapped packets of hundred-dollar bills. Bearer-bond notes bound with rubber bands with denominations scrawled on the top sheet in Charlie’s handwriting: $76,000, $210,000. Karen lifted a couple of packets, catching her breath.
There’s at least a couple of million dollars here.
She knew immediately this wasn’t right. Where would Charlie get his hands on this kind of cash? They shared everything. Numbly, she let the packets of bundled cash drop back into the case. Why would he have kept all this from her?
Her stomach knotted. She flashed back to the two men from Archer two months before. A considerable amount of money missing. And the incident with Samantha in her car. Two hundred and fifty million dollars. This was only a fraction of that amount.
She was still gaping at the contents of the box—it started to scare her. What the hell is going on, Charlie?
Toward the bottom of the container, there was more. Karen dug around and came out with a manila envelope. She unfastened the clasp
“JP Morgan Chase. Fortieth and Third Avenue branch,” a woman on the line answered.
Karen exhaled, relief mixed with a little shame. But as long as she’d gone this far, she might as well go all the way. “I’d like to speak with Megan Walsh, please.”
“One moment, please.”
It turned out Megan Walsh was the manager in charge of the Private Banking Department there. And after she’d explainedthat her husband was now deceased and that Karen was the sole beneficiary of his estate, B1254 turned out to be a safe-deposit box that had been opened at the branch a year before.
In Charlie’s name.
Karen drove into town the following morning. The bank was a large, high-ceilinged branch, only a few blocks from Charlie’s office. Megan Walsh was an attractive woman in her thirties, with long dark hair and dressed in a tasteful suit. She took Karen back to her cubicle office along a row with the other managers.
“I remember Mr. Friedman,” she told Karen, her lips pressed tightly in sympathy. “I opened the account with him myself. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“I was just piecing through some of his things,” Karen said. “This wasn’t even listed as part of his estate. I never even knew it existed.”
The bank manager perused Karen’s copy of Charlie’s death certificate and the letter of execution from the estate. She asked her a couple of questions: First, the name of their dog. Karen smiled. (It turned out he had listed Sasha.) His mother’s maiden name. Then she took Karen back into a private room near the vault.
“The account was opened about eighteen months ago, last September.” Ms. Walsh handed Karen the paperwork. The signature on the box was plainly Charlie’s.
Probably just business stuff, Karen assumed. She’d see what was in there and turn whatever it was over to Saul.
Megan Walsh excused herself and returned shortly with a large metal container.
“Feel free to take as much time as you need,” she explained. She placed it on the table, unlocking the clasp in Karen’s presence with her own duplicate key. “If there’s anything you need, or if you’d care to transfer anything into an account, I’ll be happy to help you when you’re done.”
“Thank you.” Karen nodded.
She hesitated over it for a few moments, after the door hadclosed and she was left alone with this piece of her husband he had never shared with her.
There was the shock of seeing his face up on that screen. Now this box that had never been mentioned as part of the estate or even come up in any of Charlie’s business files. She ran her hand a little cautiously along the metal sides. What could he be keeping from her in here?
Karen drew open the large container from the top and peered inside.
Her eyes stretched wide.
The box was filled with neatly arranged bundles of cash. Wrapped packets of hundred-dollar bills. Bearer-bond notes bound with rubber bands with denominations scrawled on the top sheet in Charlie’s handwriting: $76,000, $210,000. Karen lifted a couple of packets, catching her breath.
There’s at least a couple of million dollars here.
She knew immediately this wasn’t right. Where would Charlie get his hands on this kind of cash? They shared everything. Numbly, she let the packets of bundled cash drop back into the case. Why would he have kept all this from her?
Her stomach knotted. She flashed back to the two men from Archer two months before. A considerable amount of money missing. And the incident with Samantha in her car. Two hundred and fifty million dollars. This was only a fraction of that amount.
She was still gaping at the contents of the box—it started to scare her. What the hell is going on, Charlie?
Toward the bottom of the container, there was more. Karen dug around and came out with a manila envelope. She unfastened the clasp
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