Instead, he locked his office door from the inside and pulled two heavy velvet drapes across the glass window facing the teller stations in the lobby.

“The security vault server kept sixty days of digital footage,” Mr.

Reed said, polishing his thin wire-frame glasses with a silk cloth.

He put his glasses back on and tapped a black plastic mouse on his leather desk pad.

“Your attorney brought me your valet parking receipt from the downtown garage,” he went on, looking straight at me.

“The valet timestamp puts your car four miles from the bank at the exact minute of the transfer.”

“Two fourteen in the afternoon,” Martha said, tapping her yellow legal pad with an open fountain pen.