by Fiona Helmsley
“As soon as the collection agencies discover he’s dead, they are going to drain that bank account,” John’s sister, Rebecca, said. “I’ll write you a check for the balance, minus a few cents to keep the account open, and date the check for a few days before he died.”
Rebecca had been handling all of John’s finances while he’d been sick, and I’d been impressed by how well she could sign his name; it looked a lot like his signature. Forgery is one of those refined talents drug addicts have that don’t translate well into any other world. One of my refined drug addict talents had been rifling through the dresser drawers and pants pockets of people asleep in the same room.
“Deposit it immediately,” Rebecca warned. “Collection agencies monitor the Social Security rolls to go after the estates of the deceased. They’re relentless, the vultures.”
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