Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope

“The routing number,” Arthur said.

“I ran it twice.

Then a third time.”

He turned the check around so it faced me.

“Nine one two, zero four, seven seven, eight.

A private bank in Grand Cayman.” He polished his glasses on his tie and set them back on his nose.

“The account belongs to a holding company.

Guess whose name is on the signature card.”