PART 2: “YOUR GRANDMOTHER WASN’T WHO YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS.”
The sound of the locks clicking shut behind me made every nerve in my body tighten.
Customers inside the Chase branch started murmuring nervously. A man near the ATM stopped counting cash mid-motion. A woman holding a toddler stepped backward toward the windows.
And I stood there soaked from cemetery rain, clutching my grandmother’s muddy passbook while the teller stared at me like she’d seen a ghost.
“Ma’am…” I said slowly, “why are you calling the police?”
Linda swallowed hard.
Her hands were trembling so badly she nearly dropped the phone.
“What’s your full name?” she asked.
“You just read it.”
“I need you to say it.”
Something about her tone made my stomach twist.
“Claire Eleanor Hayes.”
The color drained even further from her face.
“Oh my God…”
Then the bank manager appeared from a back office.
Tall.
Gray suit.
Security badge clipped to his belt.
The moment he saw the passbook, his entire expression changed.
“Where did you get that?” he demanded.
“It belonged to my grandmother.”
“What was her name?”
“Eleanor Hayes.”
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