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I haven’t visited in four years. I started college in the city and my father would take trips to visit me instead. Apparently, the ranch grew and expanded since I was in high school and is much larger now, the house being rebuilt and added onto. As much as I want to see what it looks like now, I can’t bring myself to go back there. Not without him.
I sigh and change out of my pajamas and into a pair of dark jeans and a red blouse. I slide on a cardigan and my flats, tying up my unruly, strawberry hair as I look at myself in the mirror. I look tired and older after this last month, but my pert nose and abundant freckles still provide me with youthful appeal.
I spray on some floral perfume and fix my peridot necklace that my father gave me on my sixteenth birthday. I know it was worth a fortune, so I haven’t taken it off since. August is my birth month and the end of summer, but the green birthstone always made me feel bright and connected to the sun. It’s one of the only things I hate about Seattle, the constant absence of sunlight, but I always knew I’d see it in Montana during those magical summers. Now, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever see the sun again.
I sigh and grab my satchel, shoving the books I was reading back in and grabbing my father’s paperwork to shove that in too. I walk out and into the living room, tiptoeing quietly to not wake up my now sleeping mother as I walk out the door.
It’s time to go to the bank.
2
I walkto the bank with my head held high. We’ve pretty much exhausted all of our options for help, except one that I didn’t want to tell my mom about.
I remember my father taking me to this certain bank in downtown Seattle when he would come to visit during college. I would always wait in the car, but he left a business card behind one time that ended up in my bag. The bank manager's name is Albert Jones, an overseer of one of my dad’s various accounts. He made sure not to tell my mom about this account, because it had all my school funding in it and he didn’t want anyone else to have access to it, even though she would never take out money from any account. She was too proud, but something tells me this account held more than just my student funds. And Albert Jones is going to help me figure that out.
I near the bank and stare at the large double doors before me. It is a grand, brick building with glass windows all around it. I take a deep breath and push the doors open, marching straight to the main counter with a fake smile plastered on my face, something I’ve grown to do very well.
“Hello, miss, how may I help you today?” the kind, old woman behind the shielded counter asks me.
I take out my ID and my dad’s death certificate as well as Albert’s old card and slide it to her.
“I need to speak with Albert Jones, is he in today?” I ask and the lady doesn’t look at any of the information I just handed her, just directly at me with kind, but stern eyes.
“He is, but he only takes appointments. I can set you up with a future one, what day works best for you?” she asks, and I stretch my smile wider, sliding the information to her and forcing her to look at it.
“I’m Arthur Bailey’s daughter, a long-time client of you guys that I’m sure you remember. The day that works best for me is today, right now,” I say with a tight smile, and her demeanor totally changes.
“One moment, please,” she says, her eyes wide as she picks up the phone and dials an extension.
“Yes, hi Mr. Jones, sorry to bother you, but Arthur Bailey’s daughter is here and would like to speak with you,” she says and nods, hanging up the phone and sliding my information back to me.
“He’s ready to see you in his office. Take the elevator around the corner and you’ll ride it up to the top floor. Mr. Jones’ suite number is 510,” she says with an intimidated smile.
Weird.
“Great, thank you so much for your help,” I say, and grab the information off the counter and shove it back into my leather satchel.
I take the elevator up as instructed and look for Albert’s suite. Once I arrive, I step inside the glass doors and see a blond secretary smiling at me.
“Hi, Ms. Bailey, is it? Mr. Jones is waiting for you in his office, you can step right in, but would you care for a glass of water?” she asks sweetly, and I shake my head.
“No, but thank you,” I say as she stands and walks me to Albert’s office.
I step inside and take in the grand room before me. Everything is made of wood and leather and smells expensive. I’m slightly intimidated, but when the old man in a three-piece suit spins in his chair and smiles at me, some of that intimidation eases.
“Ms. Bailey! What a pleasant surprise, please sit,” he says, offering me a comfy, leather seat in front of his large desk.
I sit where he gestures and grab my paperwork from my bag.
“So, how is your father? I’m sure busy with his affairs in Montana. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here today, to help him out?” he asks, and a lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down and put that fake smile back on my lips.
“My father actually passed recently, that’s why I’m here,” I say quietly and his face falls.
“Ms. Bailey I- I am so sorry…” I hold a hand up and shake my finger.
“Please, there’s no need. And you can call me Ali,” I say kindly and he nods, sympathy filling his old eyes.
“Ali, what is it that I can help you with today?” he asks and I sigh.
