Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

him as a beneficiary to all my accounts as soon as we got back
from our honeymoon, but that never happened for obvious
reasons.
So I’m not his wife, I’m not his family, and I’m not his
executor. I’m pretty much not anything but shit out of luck.
I’m gonna try anyway.
At ten after four, I park in the bank parking lot, turn off the
car, and stare at the double glass doors of the entrance, giving
myself a pep talk. I don’t bank at Wells Fargo, so I don’t have
an in with anyone, a friendly account manager or familiar
teller I could try my luck with. I’m going in totally blind.
I hesitate just inside the doors, looking around to see if I
recognize any of the tellers. There are three of them, but they
aren’t people I know. The teller I decide to approach is a
young redhead with a friendly smile.
I know I’m going to hell for hoping she might have a
tragic romantic past and take pity on me when I have to trot
out my woeful story.
“Good afternoon! How may I help you?”
“I need access to a safety deposit box, please.”
“Certainly. Let me just verify the signature card. What’s
the name on the account?”
Smiling pleasantly, I say, “David Smith.”
“Just a moment, please.” She pecks away cheerfully at her
computer keyboard. “Here it is. David Smith and Natalie
Peterson.” She looks at me. “That’s you, I assume?”
My heart pounds. I’m on the account. How could I be on
the account? Maybe Google was wrong. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I’ll just need to take a peek at your ID, please.”
I fumble through my purse, pull out my wallet, and hand
over my driver’s license, hoping she won’t notice how badly
my hands are shaking.
If she does, she doesn’t mention it. Her cheerful smile
remains fixed firmly in place.