Donald pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up again and spun the page so the bottom reference line faced my side of the desk.

“The electronic routing sequence belongs to a commercial mortgage account at Westfall Savings and Loan,” Donald said, finishing with a soft clearing of his throat.

“That bank’s twenty miles south in Westfall, past the county line.”

“Thanks, Donald,” I said, folding the page into four tidy squares.

“If you have more questions about secondary account authorizations, Penelope, our compliance officer comes into the branch every Tuesday morning,” Donald said, retreating toward the door of his private office.

I tucked the folded ledger sheet into my leather handbag, snapped the brass clasp shut, and stepped out into the cool midday sun.