“I’ll be packed long before then,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

“A thirty-nine-million-dollar sale calls for a clean handover.”

At twelve o’clock, the bank branch on Main Street had two tellers behind the tall counter.

I stood in line behind a woman carrying three paper rolls of dimes.

The fluorescent lights hummed against the acoustic ceiling tiles, and the floor smelled of fresh varnish.

“Next customer,” the teller said.

Her brass name tag said Brenda.