Everything connected, all at once, into a single terrible design.

The resort trip.

The laptop left logged in.

The card limits I had set.

The salon construction.

And the two days my daughter had been locked, alone, inside the house.

Because here is what I understood, standing in that bank: that on the Monday my five-year-old was surviving on tap water and dry cereal, George had a scheduled verification call to confirm the commercial loan application.

And a loan verification is a careful thing.