Chapter 7 Snow
SNOW
Miss Montoya?”
“Yes, that’s me.” I stand abruptly, clutching my bag between both my hands.
“Come with me.”
The bank manager smiles politely and motions for me to follow, so I fall into step behind him as we weave through some desks and into an office located just behind the counter.
“Have a seat.” He closes the door behind us and moves around the desk, sitting and facing me with the same polite smile. “What seems to be the problem?”
Where do I even start?
“This is…” My head’s all over the place. Between Caleb’s sudden death, being alone in my apartment, drinking, hurting myself, and glimpsing an accidental full-frontal view of Xander, none of my thoughts remain stationary for long.
Everything clashes together and yet it all pales in comparison to the reason I’m here.
“My rent declined,” I say, clutching at the first piece of information in my mind while toying with the end of my bandage. “And it shouldn’t because I have enough in there to cover the next six months of rent. So I came down here and the woman back there, at the desk, told me my account is empty?”
“Ah, yes.” The man, Samson on his badge, nods. “She did mention you were rather distressed.”
“Can you blame me?” I shift forward to the edge of the seat. “Where is my money?”
“Do you have your account details with you?”
“Yes.” I pass over the same paperwork I gave the woman at the desk, including my ID, then wait while my breath catches in my throat.
That call in Xander’s kitchen was terrifying because my rent was the one thing I wasn’t supposed to worry about and in the New Year, I was going to take it all to finally visit my parents.
Samson taps away at his computer for a few minutes and nods slowly. “She was correct, there are no funds in that account.”
“And like I told her, there should be at least seven grand!” My racing heart becomes a blur in my chest. As I peer around at the screen, Samson turns it toward me and shows my account.
“As you can see, your account is empty.”
“This… this doesn’t make any sense. How is this possible? How—where did my money go? How is it all gone?”
“Ma’am, I ask that you lower your voice.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Shaking my head, I wrestle with myself to regain control of my fear, but it’s escaping out of me in tendrils, lashing out at anything it can reach. “It can’t be gone.”
“You cleared your account last week. You should have received a confirmation as well as a warning that if your account remains empty, then it will automatically close within the month.”
“No, no, you’re wrong. See, I planned to empty the account but I only decided that a few days ago and I haven’t touched the money in there because—” It hits me with the force of a punch and my gut wrenches downward.
Caleb.
“It’s a joint account.” My voice trembles. “Who emptied it?”
Samson taps a few buttons and pulls up the final transaction. “The account was emptied last week by your husband, Caleb. Perhaps you should speak to him.”
The words float across the screen as I stare hard at them until they warp through the tears building in my eyes. “But… no, that can’t be right. He needs my… he needs my signature to empty it and he’s not my husband.”
“He had it.”
“What?” I lock eyes with Samson. “He didn’t. I never would have agreed to that!”
“It’s right here.” Samson presses another few buttons and a scan of the agreement flashes up on the screen, complete with Caleb’s signature and my own.
“That’s not my signature!”
Samson frowns slightly. “Are you sure? He had the appropriate ID with him when he arrived and everything went smoothly.”
“No, no, hold on. When I was here a few months ago, I was told that I couldn’t remove all my funds from this account without Caleb being here in person and he refused to come.
Now you’re telling me that he was able to clear out the entire account with a fake signature and no one thought that was suspicious? ”
“Miss Montoya—”
“No! Look, that’s not even the same picture!” I slam my hand down on the ID I gave Samson and thrust it next to the photocopy of the clearly fake ID Caleb brought with him. “It’s not the same!”
Samson’s brow dips and then his lips press into a thin line. “Why don’t I call him, and we can sort this out?”
“You can’t call him!” I yell, stumbling out of my seat. “He’s dead! And you let him steal all of my money! I’m going to call the cops, do you understand? I’m going to have you all arrested, I’m going to sue you, do you hear me? How could you let this happen?”
“Miss Montoya, please calm down.”
“Calm down? Calm down? You let my ex rob me and I’m the one who has to calm down? All of my money, all of my work, gone because your stupid employees can’t tell the difference between a—”
Tears choke me and I cough. “A fake ID and a real one. Oh, my God…”
Sinking back into my chair, I dissolve into floods of tears as the hopelessness becomes all too much.
All that money, gone.
My trip to see my parents is dust in the wind.
Caleb went to all the trouble of getting a fake ID to clear out our account the day before he died.
There’s no way to tell where that money ended up.
After a brief moment of silence, Samson offers me a box of tissues and I sob into handfuls of them.
“I will personally look into this, Miss Montoya. If what you claim is true, then those responsible will be reprimanded and I will do everything I can to return your funds to you.”
“What I claim?” I croak weakly, peering at him over the top of my tissues. “You act like you don’t believe me.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he replies quietly. “What matters is what we can prove and what we can trace.”
“Whatever.” Dejected, I stand slowly and grab my ID from his desk. “He took that money in cash. We both know I’m not getting it back.”
Turning my back, I trudge out of his office and out of the bank, not stopping until I’m at the end of the street with cars flying past as if the ice on the roads is just a rumor.
How could he do this?
How could he take all of my money just like that?
Cold wind snakes its long fingers around my throat.
My tears turn to ice against my cheeks and nausea spins in my gut.
I’m tired.
Caleb’s not even here anymore and he’s still fucking up my life. Dejected, I scramble numb fingers through my purse and locate my phone, then scroll to my Mom.
Hitting the dial makes my heart sink and even the sound of her warm voice isn’t enough to raise it as she answers.
“Hi, Mom. I’ve got some bad news about Christmas.”
The only thing that hurts worse than not being able to visit my parents at Christmas is that when I called her a couple of days ago, she didn’t seem that upset to hear I couldn’t make it.
Her disappointment was akin to the tone she’d use on our childhood dog after it threw up on the rug Dad inherited from his parents.
She told me there would always be next year and hung up before I could delve into the rest of the pain troubling me.
I’ve never been super close with my family, but being surrounded by people who cared about me felt like the cure I needed for this pain consuming me.
And now that plan is gone.
The next few days pass in a blur as I settle into autopilot. I go to work and bury myself in patient charts, appointments, and the parts of patient care that everyone wants to avoid like prescriptions and surgery bookings.
Then I go home to an empty, cold apartment that remains exactly as Caleb left it, crawl into bed, and sleep.
I repeat it all in a daze while hoping the next call will be from the bank telling me it was all a clerical error and my account is fine, my money is back, and my rent is paid.
This lasts until my landlord calls, furious at my late payment, and I dip into what’s left of my holiday fund to pay for it.
My friends call, but most of those conversations are me listening about their love lives, job insecurities, and the impending festive season that approaches like rolling fog. I make the appropriate noises and they all think I’m fine.
Wandering the world numb works until Jen slams a gigantic folder down in front of me, making me jump out of my skin and jerking me painfully back to reality.
“Move,” she barks, standing over me like a warmed shadow. “Noelle, move.”
“What? I’m working.”
“Not here, you’re not. Come on, move.”
“What?” Confusion fogs my chest as I stumble out of my seat at the desk and Jen slots into place. “What do you mean?”
She squints up at me and sighs. “Are you kidding me? Didn’t you hear the announcement?”
As I come back to reality, people are rushing about the floor and running in all directions.
It’s like coming up for air after spending too long under the water. “I— what’s happening?”
“Are you alright? They need you down in trauma one, Noelle. There was a terrible accident on the highway, and it’s all hands on deck. You’re supposed to be down there already, Snow. You’re the coordinator. Is something wrong with you?”
She’s asking to be mean, but that doesn’t stop the urge to say yes. “No, I’m fine.”
“Then get moving!”
I rush away and take the elevator down to trauma one on the main floor.
The doors slide open and chaos hits me like a brick.
People are yelling and screaming, children are sobbing, doctors and nurses sprint back and forth between trolleys and patients while the cops mill around trying to talk to people, while also not getting in the way.
It’s loud and the sharp stink of antiseptic in the air is nearly overridden by the tang of copper from all the blood.
I stand there, frozen for a few long seconds, until someone bumps into me and catches my shoulder.
“Snow? Oh, thank God. I wondered where you were.” June, a seasoned nurse, flashes me a distressed smile. “You’re on Xander’s team. He’s over there. He needs all the help you can give him!”
The crowd in front of me melts away and for a few sharp seconds, Xander is the only person I can see.
He’s on his haunches in front of a child with the sleeves of his white coat rolled up to his elbows.
The child nods along to whatever Xander is saying and the softness on Xander’s face makes my heart lift.
The last time I saw him properly, I was in his kitchen while he was making me breakfast and I had to run.
Unable to face him, I’ve been subconsciously avoiding him since every time I think about him, all I see is the warm, protective scowl on his face as he rushed into my room naked, ready to tackle whatever had scared me.
Those few slow seconds give me a chance to distract myself with the softness of his features and the muscular tone of his forearms, then I rush forward through the crowd.
Once I’m in earshot, Xander pats the child and scoops him up then hands him off to a passing nurse.
He turns and our eyes lock.
Despite the cold, impassive expression that settles over his face now that he’s no longer soothing a child, there’s a flicker of warmth in his eyes that I cling to.
“Snow?”
“Xander. Sorry I’m late. Where do you want me?”