“That’s safer for Noah,” Ethan said quietly.

“He needs quiet.”

“I’ll meet you at the bank at two,” I said.

I closed the door firmly until the brass latch clicked into place.

The lobby of Oak Ridge Bank was wide and quiet, with a dark marble floor that reflected the fluorescent lights overhead.

Ethan met me by the red velvet ropes at five minutes to two, wearing an ironed collared shirt and carrying his blue folder.

A brass nameplate on the mahogany corner desk read Mr.