Arthur Bennett sat behind an oak desk, going through my printed bank records and adjusting his glasses.

“Dr.

Bennett called me last night,” Arthur said, laying his pen across the top page.

“She told me you’re a precise worker.”

“I keep clean records,” I said.

Arthur turned a page of my joint bank printout and pointed his thumb at a line dated eleven days earlier.

“This red line shows a full twelve-thousand-dollar withdrawal,” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair.

“Joint accounts usually need two signatures for anything over five thousand.”