Chapter 1
Myron Garcia asked, "Why do you need to check this?"
I froze.
At the bank counter, I had just entered the password, and the screen displayed: [Password Incorrect.]
This card was the account where my paycheck had been deposited for years.
For eight years of marriage, I had never touched it. Every month, my salary was automatically deposited into it. Myron said he would manage the finances, and I thought it was fine. It saved me the trouble.
I didn't know when the password had been changed.
I only knew that, based on my salary, there should have been over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in that account.
*****
"The password is incorrect," the teller said.
She looked at me, then back at the screen.
"Are you sure this is the right card?" she asked.
I nodded.
I knew this card better than anyone else. It was a Virella Bank card, ending in 3364, and I had opened the account myself.
Eight years ago, right after we got married, Myron said, "Honey, let me handle the family finances. You focus on looking beautiful."
Back then, I thought he was so thoughtful.
I gave him my payroll card. He even set the password for me.
"Try it one more time," the teller said.
I entered it again.
[Password Incorrect.]
I pulled out my phone, wanting to ask Myron.
He picked up right away.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"The password for my payroll account isn't working," I said.
There was a two-second silence on the other end.
Then he said those words.
"Why do you need to check this?" Myron asked.
My hand froze.
It wasn't "Let me help you figure it out."
It wasn't like he said, "Maybe I changed it."
It was "Why do you need to check this?"
"It's my card. I just want to see how much is in there," I said.
Myron was quiet for a moment.
"Which bank are you at? I'll come over," he said.
"Just tell me the password," I said.
"I'll tell you in person," he said.
Then he hung up.
I stood at the counter, and for the first time, a strange feeling crept up on me.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
Something just wasn't right.
Twenty minutes later, Myron showed up.
He was wearing that gray jacket I had bought him, and he had a milkshake in his hand.
"Why'd you suddenly decide to check this?" he asked, handing me the milkshake. His tone was so relaxed it almost felt forced.
"Mom said she wants a massage chair, so I wanted to check if there's enough in my account," I replied.
"A massage chair?" He frowned slightly. "Given how Mom's health is, what's the point of getting a massage chair? It's just throwing money away."
"Just tell me how much is in there. I need to know," I said.
Myron paused, looking a bit thrown off.
"How much?" he asked.
"How much is in my payroll account?" I said.
He didn't say anything.
"Around 250 thousand dollars, right?" I did a quick calculation. "My monthly pay started at 2,000 dollars and went up to 3,000 dollars over these eight years.
"Even without counting interest, that should be about 250 thousand."
Myron looked at me, his eyes flickering.
"It's not that much," he said.
"So, how much is actually in there?" I asked.
"Well..." Myron smiled. "Honestly, I can't remember off the top of my head. I'll check for you once we're back home."
"No need to wait until home. We can check now." I turned to the teller. "Could you check the balance for me?"
Myron's expression shifted.
"Alison, are you doubting me?" he asked.
I didn't say anything.
He added, "Come on, we're married. You really think I'd do anything to mess with you?"
"Then just tell me the password," I said.
He looked at me, saying nothing.
I stared back at him in silence.
Things suddenly got tense between us.
The people waiting in line started watching us.
Myron lowered his voice. "Don't make a scene here. Let's talk about it at home."
"I'm not making a scene," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I just want to know how much is left in my payroll account."
Myron pressed his lips together.
"Over 700 dollars," he said.
I thought I had misheard him.
"How much?" I blurted out.
"Just over 700 dollars," Myron said.
I stood there, my mind reeling.
It was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Eight years had gone by.
All that remained was seven hundred dollars.
"Where's the money?" I demanded.
He didn't answer.
"I'm asking you, where is the money?" I pressed.
He looked at me, and I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes.
"It's been spent," he muttered.
"Spent on what?" I demanded.
"Just... bills, groceries, all sorts of stuff over the years. You know how it goes," he said.
I stared at him.
I said, "Our monthly expenses never went over four thousand dollars. That's only about 300 thousand dollars in eight years.
"You make more than I do. Together, that's over 700 thousand dollars. And now you're telling me 250 thousand dollars is just gone?"