Two days later, I found myself back at the bank, this time greeted by Mr. Davis and a woman introduced as Ms. Reynolds from the fraud department. She carried a tablet, and her demeanor was all business.
« We ran a comprehensive check, » Ms. Reynolds began, tapping on her screen. « The signature on the change form doesn’t match any we have on file for you. We also traced the IP address used to access your account online and found it was from an unfamiliar location. »
My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. « Could it have been a hack? » I asked, the words tasting foreign in my mouth.
« It’s possible, » she replied, « but there are other avenues we need to explore. »
Mr. Davis leaned forward, his voice calm and steady. « We’d like you to compile a list of anyone who might have had access to your personal information in recent months. It will help narrow our investigation. »
As I nodded, mentally scrolling through recent encounters, I couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. Who would do this?
Later that evening, I spread my papers across the dining table, making notes of any unusual interactions or transactions. The list wasn’t long, but it was enough to fuel my suspicions and fears.
As the investigation continued, so did my routine, albeit with a heightened awareness of the fragility of security. I checked my accounts more frequently, wary of further surprises. Each day brought new questions, but answers seemed elusive.
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