Chapter 90 - The Unmarked Account
Two days later, Elm Street was quiet.
The movers had finished packing Judith's personal furniture, loading the last van under the watchful eye of the moving supervisor. Arthur and I stood in the empty living room, the bare hardwood floors echoing with our footsteps.
Without the heavy velvet curtains and antique mahogany cabinets, the house looked different. Sunlight poured through the tall bay windows, illuminating the honest grain of the oak beams my grandfather Lawrence had reinforced fifty years ago.
"We should burn those binders," Arthur said, gesturing toward the cardboard box near the front door containing Judith's six ledgers of Maisie's childhood expenses.
"No," I replied, looking at the box. "We keep them locked in the vault at Sarah’s office. If she ever forgets the terms of her lease, those binders stay as evidence of why she can never come back."
Arthur nodded slowly. "You're smarter than I was. I spent thirty years hoping people would change if you gave them enough grace. But grace without boundaries is just permission to be cruel."
He walked over to the old cedar chest in the corner—the one that had held the binders and Lawrence's envelope. The bottom boards were bare now, smelling faintly of cedar oil.
Arthur ran his fingers along the inner seam of the trunk, frowning. "Wait a minute."
"What is it?" I asked, walking over.
Arthur pressed firmly against the left corner brace. With a muted click, a false bottom panel popped up half an inch, releasing a tiny brass spring.
Beneath the false panel lay a shallow wooden tray that neither of us had noticed in the dim light of the rain two days ago.
Inside the tray was an old black leather passbook from the First National Bank of Chicago, dated 1971, and a single, heavy steel safe deposit key stamped with the number *408*.
I picked up the passbook. It was opened to the final balance page.
The account was not in Lawrence’s name. It was not in Arthur’s name. And it wasn't in Judith’s name.
The account was titled: *The Vance Estate Trust for Maisie Vance — Established by Lawrence Vance, October 1971.*
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Lawrence died twenty years before Maisie was even born."
Arthur stared at the passbook, his face turning completely pale as he looked at the date on the ledger.
"Maisie isn't the first Maisie," Arthur said, his hand trembling as he touched the steel key. "Lawrence had a sister. A sister he told everyone died in the flu epidemic of 1948."
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Arthur looked up at me, his eyes wide with a sudden, terrifying realization.
"And she lived in Chicago."
