The bank opened at nine, and Sarah Miller had the folder sitting ready on the corner of her desk before I even sat down.

“Mrs.

Hayward’s records came in three pieces,” she said.

“Checking, savings, and a trust sub-account that your uncle closed out in July.”

I pulled my chair closer.

“Start with the trust.”

She turned the pages with a finger she kept dampening on a sponge.

Her desk smelled of copier toner and the peppermint she was chewing.