A woman who could be off in Colorado with a hearing schedule and a duty roster while eleven million dollars slipped out of the country at two in the morning.

The brass clasp on my briefcase felt cool under my thumb.

I opened it, pulled out the master timeline sheet, and laid it flat.

I drew one red circle around the first wire date.

Then the second one.

Then the rest, one at a time, until the entire column was ringed.

Down the margin of the page, in pencil, I wrote the only question that was left: whose accounts.

Then I checked the bakery clock through the floorboards and started a list of everything I owned that I could sell.