I opened the manila folder on the island and turned it around so it faced them.

“Twelve dollars,” I said.

“Every month for three years.

A twelve-dollar processing fee on a thirty-five-hundred-dollar medical transfer.”

Gloria’s hand dropped from her chest and came to rest flat on the counter.

“There aren’t any medical providers,” I said.

“There’s a credit union account in Mesa.

With two names on it.”