“Then let me look at the bank matter.”

She pushed the folder beneath the counter.

“You should be talking to your mother, not the bank.”

I took a step back.

Helen’s lanyard snagged on the edge of the counter and pulled taut.

She jerked it loose and walked toward the back office.

The teller slid a withdrawal slip across the counter.

It showed a cashier’s check for forty thousand dollars, payable to Victoria Sterling, dated that very morning.