“I spent three weeks checking the corporate filings for Ulette Insurance,” David said.

“Gerald has been running three personal accounts through the agency to hide his cash problems.”

“Does Clare know?” I asked.

“She saw the statements,” David said.

“That was when she realized he was using venue deposits to keep his personal credit lines open.”

By ten thirty, the morning haze over Main Street had cleared into bright June heat.

I stood in the asphalt parking lot behind Greenfield National Bank beside David and his father, Arthur Vance.

Arthur was seventy-two, a retired civil engineer with thick white hair and a navy suit that smelled faintly of cedar and pipe tobacco.