Page 26 of You Know Why

“Excuse me? What do you mean, frozen?”

“Frozen for nonpayment, ma’am. Are you prepared to make a payment at this time?”

“Um, no. Not just now. Thank you.”

What the hell is going on?

I call my bank. It is a Nashville-based cooperative that I’ve had an account with for over twenty years. My agent, Leeann, answers on the first ring, voice cool but with a frantic note underlying the greeting. “Hi. You must have read my mind. I was about to call you.”

“What were you calling me about?”

“You closed the account without giving me a chance to fight for your business. I was out yesterday, and when I came back this morning, there was a notice that the funds had been withdrawn and the account terminated. I thought we had a better relationship than that, so I was calling to apologize and see how we can get your business back.”

“Leeann, I didn’t close the account.”

“But I have your signature on the papers.”

“It wasn’t me. This is going to sound nuts, but can you ask whoever was there yesterday who brought in the paperwork?”

I hear paper shuffling, then her talking, muffled, as if she’s placed a hand over the speaker. A few moments later, she comes back.

“It was Trey.”

“Trey came into the bank and closed the account?” I can hardly believe the words coming from my mouth. “How much did he withdraw?”

More muffled speech. “You had about $300,000, give or take. He took $100,000 in cash, there was a wire transfer out for $147,000, and the remaining $53,000 he moved to a Coinbase wallet.”

“Coinbase?”

“It’s a site for holding and trading crypto.”

“Crypto.”

I’ve become a mimic. Get it together. “What do you mean, about $300,000? There should be close to $700,000 in there. We have it in that interest-bearing account you set up when Trey decided to pull our funds out of the stock market and hold cash.”

Leeann flips some pages. “You haven’t been holding cash. There have been pretty steady withdrawals over the past six months, plus several transfers to various accounts, including Coinbase.”

“Four hundred thousand dollars’ worth? This isn’t happening.”

“Yes, it would seem so. What’s wrong, Brook? Were you not aware of the transactions?”

“No.” Because I’m an idiot and I let my husband handle everything.

I hear her shuffling papers. “Well, this is absolutely your signature, unless it’s been forged.”

“Leeann, I don’t remember signing these papers, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I didn’t. Trey gives me paperwork to sign all the time. I’ve never stopped to challenge him on what it’s for. With as many investments as we have, there’s always something to sign.”

Leeann’s crisp professional tone is back. “I’m making a note that while this signature could be legitimate, you didn’t know he was closing the account. But since it’s probably not a forgery, that’s about all I can do. This gets into some legal territory that will need greater oversight than I can provide.”

“Can you at least trace the wire transfers?”

“Easier said than done. One of the Swift transfers yesterday was to a numbered account at a Swiss bank in Zurich. Which means it was an established account, more than ten years old, because the Swiss stopped letting people open numbered accounts when it started being abused, and various governments started showing up with warrants to look at their financials. But they service the older accounts. The odds of the money still being there are slim, though. If Trey was trying to disguise the transaction, I’m sure it has already been moved from that account to another. Now, the crypto transfers, those are traceable—crypto has transaction signatures—but it’s challenging. We will have to bring in a forensic accountant to investigate. And even if we find them, if they’re in a wallet, we’d need the passcode to access it. And the phone where the account is being processed, too.”

At least I have his phone, assuming the accounts are on there.

Last night’s cryptic email is beginning to make more sense. I wish to God I’d screenshotted it, or the address it came from. I can contact my service provider and see if they have the record, but that’s a long shot.

“Why would Trey . . . Never mind. I’m in Atlanta, my cards aren’t working, and I need to get home. Once I have an idea what’s happened, I’ll come see you. Please don’t drop me as a client.”