I leaned forward on the sofa cushions.

“David, what do you think you’re doing?”

He lifted his left hand, aimed his index finger right at me and tapped his heavy gold wedding band twice on the glass coffee table.

Click.

Click.

“The card ends in four-zero-two-eight,” David told the man on the phone.

“It belongs to Clara Miller.

I need that debit card permanently canceled right away.”