Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

Getting through class Monday is sheer hell. I watch the
clock like a bird of prey, counting down every second until I
can leave and go to the bank.
There’s only one branch of Wells Fargo in town, so it’s not
like I’ll have to drive all over the state looking for the right
one. That’s not a problem.
The real problem lies in gaining access to the safety
deposit box.
David and I weren’t legally married when he disappeared.
We had the marriage license, but you also have to have a
ceremony performed by an authorized person to make the
marriage official.
As only his fiancée and not his wife, I won’t be allowed
access unless I’m named on the account. Which I’m not,
considering I would’ve had to be there with him and provide
ID when the box rental agreement was signed.
At least according to Google.
Also complicating the situation is the lack of a death
certificate.
Although David is presumed dead under state law because
he’s been missing for five years, there’s no death certificate. I
can’t petition the court to get one, either. Only a spouse,
parent, or child can do that, and I’m not any of those things.
If I had a death certificate, I might be able to convince a
sympathetic bank employee to allow me access, especially if I
also produced our marriage license.
Even more especially if the person lived in town five years
ago. Nobody talked about anything else for months.
I’d get sad sack bonus points, for sure.
Additionally, David didn’t have a will, so I’m not the
executor of his estate, either…not that there was any estate to
speak of. He had less than two thousand dollars in his
checking account when he went missing. He didn’t own any
property. The modest investments we made were in a
brokerage account solely in my name. The plan was to add