Mark’s eyes narrowed, and his whole posture stiffened.

“Arthur had no right to discuss our account history with you.”

“It was my joint account, Mark,” I said.

“And Arthur is the branch manager.”

I picked up the three pages from the desk, stood up, and walked out through the entryway to the front porch.

The cool autumn air hit my face as I stepped outside.

I set the papers down on the round wicker table between the two porch chairs where my grandmother used to sit in the late afternoons.

Mark pushed the front door open and stepped out onto the porch behind me, his face tight with anger.