The bank answered my letter with a refusal.
It said the records were confidential and that the payment had been properly assigned. The note was signed by the same clerk whose name appeared in my father's ledger.
I read the letter twice. Cal read it once.
"They're not going to hand over the proof," I said.
"No."
"Can they refuse?"
"They can refuse until someone makes them stop."
The lawyer warned us that a court petition would cost more than the money Cal had already given him. He also said we could petition for an audit, but it might take months.
"We don't have months," I said.
"We have until October," Cal said.
"An audit could take longer."
"Then we find another route."
I hated how calmly he said it. Calm was easy when you hadn't spent your life being taught that there was alw
