“You stole from me!”
I would recognize that voice and the anger if I were drugged, or asleep, or ninety-one years old.
My father had called, and those were his first words. Had he meant to call someone else?
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. You stole my money.”
A rock fell in my stomach. I was flustered, angry, glad that at least we were on the phone and not in person.
Backstory: At the time, I was my father’s executor and had access to his checking account.
“What are you talking about?”
“You went into my Schwab account and stole $332 to pay your Time Warner bill. You stole my money.”
I protested I hadn’t done it, that I didn’t even have Time Warner. I had Comcast. It didn’t matter.
He hung up.
It took almost a month of phone calls with Time Warner to figure out what happened with Dad’s $332. Eventually, they discovered a billing error and said it would take 3-5 days to show as a credit in his account.
I called Dad, happy to have an answer and happy to clear my name. I told him what had happened.
“So. You’ve paid them back and now they’re paying me back. Good.”
He hung up.
It never occurred to me he wouldn’t believe me.
When I explained the situation to my brother, I think he believed me, but I’m not sure. He may have doubts.
That’s something money can do.
Chewing the Cud of Good
Thankful for hope.