“They’re not in buckets anymore, Dale,” I said, keeping my voice soft and even against the glass.

“There’s no way you can hand-roll ninety-one thousand coins before Friday,” Dale said, leaning his heavy forearms on the inside ledge.

“You’re going to miss the county audit deadline, and you know it.”

“Every penny is clean, rolled, and ready for those twenty-three children,” I said.

Dale stared through the windowpane, his throat working as he swallowed hard, but nothing came out.

“Nine o’clock tomorrow morning, at Washington Elementary,” I said, stepping back twice toward the dark gravel lot.