“And what did you tell him?”

“That the sheriff would already be there.”

I didn’t correct her.

I wrote sheriff on the sticky note beneath the tow company’s name and boxed it in.

The bank manager’s nameplate said L.

Meyers, and a dried coffee ring ran across the L.

I put the manila folder on her desk and opened it to page four of the private investigator’s report.

“I’m filing a formal fraud claim on the joint checking account,” I said.