I stood on the footstool, pushing my leather-bound commentaries onto the top shelf one at a time.

Wade sat at the oak desk under the window with two piles of green hanging folders spread over the blotter.

Wade nudged his silver-framed glasses with his thumb.

“The bank examiner finished going through the transaction receipts twenty minutes ago,” Wade said, tapping a red ballpoint on the ledger.

“Between 1979 and last month, Arthur funneled ninety-two thousand dollars through three private holding accounts.”

“That money belonged to the seminary scholarship trust,” I said, pushing the fifth volume into its spot.