Brenda tapped the green paper with her silver pen.

“That’s an institutional transfer,” she said.

“It goes straight to a branch in Oakridge.”

Oakridge was twelve miles north.

It was a wealthy town built around a huge lake and a private marina.

Nobody went to Oakridge for cheap groceries or discount winter boots.

“Does he have a personal savings account there?” I asked.

“I can’t see the destination account,” Brenda said.