We took the quiet elevator up to the second-floor conference rooms, where Mr.

Henderson, the senior bank manager, was waiting outside room two-fourteen.

“Everything’s ready,” Mr.

Henderson said quietly.

He pushed open the heavy oak door, revealing Seth sitting at the far end of a long conference table.

Seth wore a freshly ironed plaid shirt and leaned back in his leather chair, his hands resting in his lap.

Heather sat two chairs down from him, her elbows on the dark wood, holding her canvas handbag tightly.

Seth gave me an easy smile as I walked in.