At three o’clock, Arthur met Evelyn and me at the double glass doors of First National Bank.

He led us down the carpeted hallway into his corner office, pulled out two leather armchairs, and waited for us to sit before closing the door.

He set his reading glasses on his desk, took a microfiber cloth from his drawer, and wiped both lenses in slow, deliberate circles.

“Everything has been prepared according to Rachel Kim’s written instructions,” Arthur said, putting the folded cloth back into his drawer.

He slid a thick black leather folder across the mahogany desk toward Evelyn.