Our card hadn’t failed at the counter because of a county banking glitch.

It had failed because the primary line of credit behind it was maxed out to the very limit.

Upstairs, the tiny brass key turned in Mark’s desk drawer lock, tight and secure in the quiet house.

I stood holding the crumpled slip under the porch light while Mark locked his desk drawer upstairs.

The Oakhaven State Bank opened at nine o’clock sharp.

I stood at the tall oak counter with my driver’s license, my Social Security card, and our original land deed filing laid out on the polished stone top.