It was an innocent mistake. Norma and I had been settled for several years in Branson, Missouri, but still had bank accounts in Phoenix, where we used to live. I thought it would be good to combine everything into one bank, so I closed the accounts in Phoenix and invested the money in a fund I had at our local bank.
A couple years later, I was meeting with our accountant, who asked me about a bank account in Phoenix. "I closed that a few years ago," I told him.
"Then why is there still activity?" he asked. He told me about a number of deposits and the amount of money there.
I thought that was strange, so I called Norma and asked her about it. She explained that it was a special savings account she'd set up. Each month she put some of her paycheck in the account, which she uses for our children and grandchildren. Suddenly I realized that she didn't know I'd "closed out" the accounts. I'd forgotten to tell her—and she'd kept making deposits.
I told my accountant, who then wanted to know what had happened to the money I'd withdrawn.
"I reinvested it," I explained.
My accountant, a wise man, said, "Gary, I think we should go together and explain this to Norma."
So we drove to my house and told Norma the situation. She frowned for a moment, then said, "I wondered why that account was so low. Now I know who stole it!"
"No, no, I just reinvested it!" I tried to explain. Then she laughed and kidded us some more about it. I breathed a sigh of relief; she didn't seem mad. Everything was okay!1