At my wedding, my grandfather handed me an old savings book. My father snatched it from my hands, saying, “That bank closed in the 80s. It’s lost.” My grandfather died shortly after. I went to the bank anyway. The manager looked through the files, glanced up at me, and said, “Sir, perhaps you should sit down…”

“Declan,” he said, taking me aside, “I have something for you.”

He slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small, worn booklet. A savings booklet, like the ones banks used to give their customers before digitization.

“What is this?”

“Your wedding gift. For your future. For Naomi. For the children you will have.”

He put it in my hands.

“Don’t tell anyone. Not your father, not your mother, not anyone. Keep it to yourself until the right time.”

“Grandpa, I don’t understand.”

Before I could say anything else, my father appeared at my side.

“What is this?” asked Gordon, taking out the savings book. “What did he give you?”

“It’s nothing, Dad. Just a card.”

But my father was faster than me. He snatched the booklet from my hands and opened it.

“First Cleveland Savings and Loan.” He laughed. “Chester, that bank doesn’t exist anymore. It closed thirty years ago.”

“It has been acquired,” said Grandpa Chester softly. “The account is still active.”

“Assets with what? The fifty dollars you deposited in 1971?”

Gordon waved the savings book in the air.

“It’s worthless, Chester. Absolutely worthless. The account was probably closed decades ago. Even if it still exists, it’s empty.”

“Give it back to me,” I said.

“I’m doing you a favor, son. I’m saving you the embarrassment of walking into a bank with that garbage.”

He turned to my mother, who had appeared at his side.

“Lorraine, look at this. The old man is giving Declan a savings book from a bank that doesn’t exist.”

My mother shook her head.

“Chester, honestly. Couldn’t you have just given him a check like a normal person?”

“There’s nothing normal about being broke,” Preston chimed in, joining the conversation, for he could never resist the urge to make fun of someone. “Admit it, Grandpa. You have nothing to give. You never had anything. Why pretend otherwise?”

“Give it back to me,” I repeated, in a harsher voice this time.

My father looked at me in surprise. Then he shrugged and tossed me the savings book. I caught it against my chest.

“Very well. Keep your worthless memory. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you walk into the bank that absorbed First Cleveland and they laugh as they throw you out.”

“I will take that into account.”

My grandfather Chester caught my eye. He winked at me. And in that wink, I saw something I didn’t understand at the time: confidence, assurance, the look of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“Take good care of that savings account,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s worth more than they realize.”

My father sniffed.

“His senility is worsening. We really need to find him a specialized facility.”

Grandpa Chester simply smiled.