She led me down a hallway into a small office at the back of the bank. The room was dimly lit, with only a small lamp on the desk casting a faint glow. I sat down in the chair she offered, my heart racing as I tried to make sense of the situation. What was going on? Why was she treating me like this?
The teller sat across from me, folding her hands on the desk. “This is a very unusual request,” she said, her voice hesitant. “The account linked to that card is… well, it’s not the kind of account that we normally deal with.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my throat dry.
She hesitated again, glancing around as if checking to make sure no one could hear. “It’s a private account,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “One that’s tied to investments and properties that have been… carefully managed. Your father had quite a bit of wealth, more than anyone knew.”
I sat back in my chair, my mind spinning. My father had been a man who lived modestly. How could he have had all this hidden wealth? What kind of life had he been living that I had known nothing about?
“Can you access it?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.