The home address typed under Ruth Vance’s signature line was a cottage on Willow Lane in Westfall.

Two bright headlights swept over the living room window, throwing long shadows of the porch railing across the hallway wall.

I tucked the blue folder back beneath the tax bills, pushed the oak drawer closed, and turned the metal key in the lock.

The desk latch clicked shut just as Bob’s car door slammed in the driveway outside.

At ten the next morning, Donald laid three blue bank ledger pages across the glass desk in his private office at First Community Bank.

He pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses before reaching for a red pencil, his face formal and wary.