PART 3
“Good morning,” Garrett said smoothly. “I need to make a couple of routine adjustments to our accounts. First, I want to transfer twenty-five thousand dollars from the primary joint high-yield savings into my individual checking account. Second, I need a replacement debit card issued for the business account under Morales Logistics LLC.”
The banker, a middle-aged woman named Elena with gold-rimmed glasses, gave a polite nod and began typing his Social Security number into her terminal.
“Certainly, Mr. Vance. Let me pull up the profile.”
Garrett leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, already calculating how much he would give Priscilla to shut her up and which waterfront condo he might lease to show Iris just how well he could do on his own.
Then Elena’s fingers stopped moving over the keyboard.
She frowned, tilted her screen slightly, and tapped a few more keys. Her polite, welcoming demeanor vanished, replaced by the guarded, professional stiffness bank employees adopt when a fraud alert flashes red across their monitors.
“Is there a problem?” Garrett asked, his smile tightening.
“Mr. Vance… were you not notified of the status changes made on these accounts yesterday afternoon?”
Garrett’s stomach plummeted. “What status changes? What are you talking about?”
“The joint savings account you referenced—ending in 4409—was liquidated yesterday at 3:15 PM by the primary account holder, Iris Morales. Under the terms of the account agreement, either party had the right of total withdrawal. She transferred the full balance into a newly created single-member trust account over which you have no signature authority.”
Garrett surged forward in his chair. “Liquidated?! That was over one hundred and forty thousand dollars! That’s my money too! That’s marital property!”
“Sir, the funds deposited into that account originated exclusively from the payroll deposits of Morales Logistics LLC,” Elena replied coolly, her eyes fixed on the transaction history. “And as for the business account and line of credit… Mrs. Morales arrived in person yesterday with a certified copy of an Emergency Protective Order, a police incident report regarding felony domestic battery, and corporate resolution documents revoking your authorized user status. Because the LLC is registered solely under her maiden name, your access to all related commercial credit facilities was terminated immediately.”
Garrett’s breath hitched in his throat. The room seemed to tilt.
“Check the credit cards,” he choked out, slamming a palm against the armrest. “Check the platinum Visa! The one ending in 8112!”
Elena clicked a tab. “Canceled. Marked as potentially compromised due to domestic unauthorized access. Any attempts to swipe secondary cards tied to that account have been blocked.”
“That’s illegal!” Garrett yelled, drawing the attention of two security guards standing near the glass entryway. “She can’t just strip me of everything without a court hearing! I’m her husband!”
“If you dispute the actions taken by the primary account holder, sir, you will need to retain a divorce attorney,” Elena said, her voice dropping into an icy, no-nonsense monotone. “Now, please lower your voice, or I will have security escort you out of the branch.”
Garrett stumbled out of the bank into the blistering Miami humidity, sweat soaking through his collar, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon.
His phone began to vibrate violently in his hand. It was Priscilla.
He swiped the screen, putting it to his ear. Before he could speak, his sister’s screech tore through the receiver.
“Garrett! What the hell is going on?! I’m at the salon and the card was declined! Then I went to put gas in the car and it got declined again! I’m stuck on Biscayne Boulevard with an empty tank! Fix it right now!”
“Shut up, Priscilla!” Garrett roared into the phone, completely unhinged. “Shut your mouth! She took the money! She canceled the cards! She took everything!”
“What do you mean she took it?!” Priscilla screamed back. “Get in your car and go to her office! Make her sign the papers! Call your buddies at the precinct! You can’t let her do this to us!”
Garrett hung up on her, his hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped the phone.
His car.
Yes. At least he had the car. He drove a brand-new BMW 5 Series, his absolute pride and joy. Iris might have frozen the liquid cash, but the car was in his possession. He could trade it in, downgrade to an older sedan, and pocket fifteen grand in equity to float him until he could get a lawyer to drag Iris through family court.
He practically ran to the multi-story parking garage where he had left the vehicle. He jogged up the concrete ramp to the third level, turned the corner toward space 314, and skidded to a dead halt.
The space was empty.
In the center of the clean concrete floor sat a single, small puddle of water.
