“Is she on your bank account?”
“Since your father passed. Mr. Ostrander said it was a good idea to have someone on the account who lives close. In case I got sick.”
I kept my face calm. At work, I’ve seen this many times. A son or daughter gets added to a parent’s checking account for convenience. Then one day money starts leaving that shouldn’t be leaving. Sometimes it’s a misunderstanding. Sometimes it’s not. The bank calls it elder financial exploitation, and it’s one of the most heartbreaking things I see.
I didn’t want to believe it about my sister. Not Pam, who used to braid my hair before school. Pam, who drove four hours through a blizzard to be with me when my first baby was born.
“Mom,” I said carefully, “would you let me look at your bank statements? Just so I can help you keep track.”
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she got up, went to the old rolltop desk in the dining room, and brought back a manila folder.
“Your father always kept everything,” she said. “I just keep putting them in the folder.”
I spread the statements out on the kitchen table. Mom’s checking account at Harvey State Bank. Her income every month was simple: Social Security of $1,640, and Dad’s small pension from the farm co-op of $310. Then, twice a year, the cash rent from the Schmidt boys for the cropland, about $28,000 in March and again in October.
I went through the statements line by line, the way I would for a loan application.
Most of it was normal. The electric bill. Her Medicare supplement premium. Her church tithe. Groceries at the store in Harvey.
But starting in October, there were checks that weren’t normal.
October 15: Check #2241, $1,400, payable to Pam Kessler. Memo: house pmt.
November 15: Check #2258, $1,400, payable to Pam Kessler. Memo: house pmt.
December 15: Check #2270, $1,400, payable to Pam Kessler. Memo: house.
