“You asked for an emergency review of account four-eight-two, Penelope,” Donald said, tapping the page.

“I pulled the quarterly record like you wanted.”

I sat up straight in the leather chair, touching my silver pendant with two fingers.

“I need to find out where the recurring monthly payments are going.”

Before Donald could reply, the office door swung open and Bob strode in, his wool hat in one hand.

He gave Donald a warm smile and reached across the desk for a quick handshake.

“Morning, Donald,” Bob said, settling into the armchair right next to mine.