He drove back across the township line to his stone house in Strasburg.

The kitchen was dark when Nathaniel came in through the back door at six o’clock that evening.

Brenda was sitting at the oak kitchen table with her glasses resting on her clipboard and three ledger folders spread out under the single light of an antique brass reading lamp.

A mug of black tea was going cold beside her papers.

“The bank manager called at four o’clock,” Brenda said.

Her voice was clipped and quiet.