The First National Bank branch on Fourth Avenue had three tellers and six people in line.

I waited until a quarter past one, then stepped up to the window.

“I’m here for certified withdrawal slips on the emergency medical trust account,” I said.

The teller, a young woman whose name tag read Renee, typed on her keyboard.

“The account number?”

I read it off to her.

She frowned at her screen.

“There was a forty-five-thousand-dollar transfer out of this account two weeks ago.”