Grant swallowed hard.
“She came to me four months ago. She said she suspected someone close to her was accessing things they shouldn’t. Financial documents, passwords, bank accounts. She said files at home didn’t look the same when she opened them. She said parts of her medical records were missing.”
A long breath escaped me without permission.
“You’re telling me she thought my family was doing it?”
“I’m telling you she didn’t trust them, and she didn’t want them knowing she didn’t trust them.”
Then he finally opened the folder.
Inside were printed emails, screenshots, financial statements, and a handful of sticky notes in my sister’s handwriting.
Her handwriting hit me harder than I expected. Clean, even, familiar. A small detail that made everything suddenly too real.
“Start here,” he said, tapping a printed email chain.
I scanned the top message. It was from Grant to my sister, confirming their conversation.
Keep everything documented. Bring hard copies only.
No attachments.
She replied hours later.
They’re watching my accounts. I think someone is tracking what I print.
I set the paper down carefully.
“She never said anything to me.”
“She didn’t tell me everything either,” Grant said. “She only said she was collecting proof. She was scared to even print it in the office.”
She said she felt like she was being monitored.
Monitored wasn’t a word my sister used lightly. She was an accountant. Practical. Grounded. Allergic to drama.
“What made her think my brother or his wife were involved?” I asked.
Grant flipped to a set of screenshots. Bank withdrawals. Credit card advances. Loan applications.
Leave a Comment