“I didn’t know.”
“So I called Valerie’s husband.”
“Why him?”
“He manages some of my online accounts.”
My head snapped toward her.
“What?”
Mom looked embarrassed.
“You were deployed last year.”
“Julian offered.”
I remembered.
I had been in Poland for six weeks.
Mom had needed help setting up new online banking authentication.
Julian volunteered.
I never thought anything of it.
“He knew your passwords?”
Mom nodded.
“Some.”
I felt sick.
She continued.
“I called the bank yesterday.”
“They said several transfers went to an account I did not recognize.”
“I wrote the number down.”
“Then Julian came over.”
“Did you call him after speaking to the bank?”
“No.”
“How did he know?”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
That mattered.
A lot.
She continued.
“He kept telling me I was confused.”
“He said I must have authorized everything.”
“I told him I was calling Valerie.”
“Then what?”
“He took my phone.”
My jaw tightened.
“He said I was going to ruin the family over a misunderstanding.”
“I tried to take the phone back.”
“He pushed me.”
“I hit the hallway table.”
“Then I yelled.”
“He grabbed my arm.”
“I screamed for him to leave.”
“What happened next?”
“He walked into the living room.”
“He picked up the little fireplace poker.”
“The brass one?”
“Yes.”
“He stared at it.”
“Then he put it down.”
