I reached into my coat pocket and took out the little notched brass key I’d taken from the emergency drawer, the key to my own metal file box.

The lock turned with a dry click, and the green steel lid sprang open.

I took out five years of joint tax returns, blue carbon ledger sheets, and monthly checking statements.

My engineering training kicked in before my thoughts could wander back to Trevor’s smooth apologies.

I took a blank grid notebook out of Dad’s drawer and ruled five tidy columns: Date, Check Number, Branch Location, Amount, and Listed Purpose.

The first mismatch showed up on a blue carbon receipt dated August fourteenth two years back.