The statement came for an account at a bank I’d never heard of, and the name on it was mine. I stared at the page for almost a full minute before I recognized the account number. It was connected to an old address we’d lived at before we were married. My attorney asked whether I’d ever opened an account there, and I said no — not knowingly.
She ordered the complete records. Three days later, the bank sent over the original application. My signature was on it, but the date was from 2004, and I knew exactly where I’d been that week because it was the week my husband had taken our daughter to visit his parents while I stayed home working. I had never been inside that bank.
Then we found the deposits. For twenty-two years, money had been moving into that account every month, and the amounts had grown steadily. My attorney traced the first deposit to a company my husband had told me he had sold in 2003. She looked at the statement, then at me, and said, “He didn’t sell that company. He moved the money.”
