I took screenshots of the fraud alert. Downloaded the access logs. Called the bank and used the same calm voice I used when interviewing executives who believed regulations were optional.
“Freeze all external access,” I said. “Do not notify the attempted user yet. I need the branch footage preserved.”
The manager hesitated. “Are you filing a police report?”
“Yes.”
Years ago, my father had been an authorized signer, back when I was nineteen and naïve enough to think parents were safety nets instead of hands tightening around your throat. I removed him at twenty-four. Or rather, I submitted the paperwork.
