Arthur, the branch manager, sat behind a wide dark mahogany desk near the vault entrance, cleaning his reading glasses with a small microfiber cloth.

He put his glasses back on, adjusted his necktie, and looked up as I crossed the lobby.

“Mrs.

Reed,” Arthur said in his slow, formal voice.

“How can I help you this afternoon?”

I laid the blue vinyl binder flat on the blotter between us.

“I need an explanation for why the balance in our joint savings account has dropped below three thousand dollars,” I said.

Arthur pulled up our account on his desktop screen and typed quickly.