David picked up the cookie and put it back down.

“What are you going to do?”

I closed the black ledger.

The snap was quiet.

The teller slid Martha’s account envelope back across the counter with a printed notice stapled to the front, and the number on it wasn’t a grocery number.

“Eighteen thousand five hundred,” I said.

“That’s printed on the outside of her envelope.”

Deena, according to her name badge, turned the envelope around to read it.