“She knew that forty-one thousand two hundred dollars hadn’t been verified, and she chose to leave instead of facing the board.”

Valerie cleared her throat, shifted the tablet under her arm, and hurried down the hall toward the front desk.

Garrett watched her go before he turned back to me, his forehead creasing a little.

“You look pale this morning, Dad,” Garrett said gently.

“Be sure you drink your coffee before the eleven o’clock bid call.”

“I’ll do that,” I said.

By a quarter to two, I was sitting in a high-backed leather chair in Dale Owens’s private office at First National Bank of Dallas.