I looked down at the slips in my hand.

Four new bank security slips, each with a fresh PIN hidden under a scratch-off strip.

“Do you want me to deny it?” she asked.

The rain beat against the windshield so hard that the wipers jumped.

I put the slips in my bag and held the bag tight against my chest.

“Not just yet,” I said.

She nodded and handed me a carbon copy of the request.

The line for the requester was blank.