He rubbed the heavy gold signet ring on his pinky against his suit jacket.

“Tom,” Arthur said, his voice ringing clearly over the marble floor.

“What brings our parish pastor down to the commercial vault on a Wednesday afternoon?”

“Margaret gave me a key,” I said, holding the brass key up between my fingers.

“Box four-twelve.”

Arthur laid his palm flat on the teller counter.

“That safe deposit box belongs to Kade’s corporate account.

The church has no legal business with it, and neither do you.”