“How much was sitting in that inheritance account yesterday morning?”

“Forty-two thousand dollars,” Donald said.

“He took out forty-two thousand dollars in certified funds and left only the minimum balance it takes to keep the ledger open.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an official bank receipt stamped in yesterday’s red ink.

“Is there a copy of the authorization paper he showed the teller?” I asked.

Donald slid his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and pointed to a signature line at the foot of the transaction slip.

“The notary stamp belongs to a public signing agent registered down in Westfall,” Donald said.