My daughter, Claire, did not shout. She pulled out her phone and said evenly, “Then we are calling the bank right now, and we are doing it in front of you.” My daughter-in-law, Renee, laughed and said the accounts were protected by passwords only she knew. Claire set the phone on the counter and turned on the speaker. “Then the bank can tell us who they belong to,” she answered.

Before anyone could speak again, the front door opened, and my son, Gregory, walked in carrying three shopping bags from a jewelry store. He stopped when he saw the three of us in the kitchen. One bag slipped from his hand, and a brass key attached to a small wooden buoy tumbled across the floor. Claire picked it up and held it toward him. “Greg,” she said quietly, “what does this open?”