Martha, a teller I had known since our boys were in kindergarten, smiled from behind the high mahogany counter.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lane,” she said, her fingers already hovering over the keyboard. “Just the usual deposit today?”
“Actually, Martha, I need a balance statement for the joint savings account,” I said.
She tapped the keys, the steady clicking the only noise in the quiet lobby. Then her hand stopped, her wrist staying completely still.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Let me get the manager, Helen,” she said in a quiet voice, her eyes darting toward the glass offices at the back.
“I just need the balance, Martha. I do not need the manager for a balance.”
“The balance is twelve hundred dollars,” Martha said, keeping her eyes fixed on the lower corner of her screen.
“That is impossible,” I said. “We had over seventy-one thousand dollars in that account yesterday morning.”
Martha turned the screen slightly toward me, her face pale. “There was a wire transfer yesterday afternoon at four o’clock.”
“Who authorized the transfer of the seventy thousand dollars?” I asked.
