“Mailed straight to your rural route box last August,” Sheila said.

“Both secondary cards share the primary forty-thousand-dollar ceiling.

The current statement balance is thirty-nine thousand nine hundred and twelve dollars.”

My thumb slid over the silver band of my wristwatch, pressing the metal flat against my skin.

Yesterday morning at the grain elevator office, Mark had insisted his debit payment failed because of a temporary regional banking glitch.

Now I knew the truth.

The credit line wasn’t having a computer glitch at all.