The registrar’s office at the high school was always too warm in November, the old steam radiators clanking behind the gray metal filing cabinets. Martha, who had worked at the front desk for twelve years, was sitting across from me with a blue plastic folder containing the junior class activity fees. We were matching the receipts against the district bank ledger, trying to find a discrepancy of eighty-five dollars.
“They changed the online portal again,” Martha said, squinting at the computer screen. “Every time they update the software, three transactions just vanish into thin air.”
“Let me look at the paper copies,” I said, reaching for the physical ledger.
Before I could open the file, my phone buzzed on the desk right next to my coffee mug. It was encased in the bright orange silicone cover Daniel had bought for me on my last birthday, claiming it would make the phone easier to find in my purse.
The screen lit up with an automated alert from our local community bank.
I picked it up, my eyes scanning the short line of text.
“Everything all right?” Martha asked, her hand pausing over the budget sheets.
“I think so,” I said, my voice trailing off as I read the numbers again.
The message was an automated notification of a withdrawal. Twelve thousand dollars had been transferred out of our joint savings account at ten past eleven that morning.
“Is it the school account?” Martha asked.
“No,” I said, after a long pause. “It is personal.”
“Those bank texts are always getting delayed,” Martha said, shaking her head. “Last week I got one saying my electric bill was overdue when I paid it three weeks ago.”
I stared at the screen, my thumb resting on the orange edge of the case.
“I need to make a quick call,” I said.
I dialed the customer service number, but the recorded message informed me that the wait time to speak with a representative was over twenty minutes due to high call volume.
“I will run down to the branch during my lunch break,” I said, setting the phone down.
“Go ahead,” Martha said. “I can handle the late registration requests if anyone comes in.”
The community bank branch on Michigan Street was quiet when I walked in at four past fifteen in the afternoon, the autumn sun casting long, pale shadows across the heavy glass doors. Sarah, a teller who had worked there since my college days, was counting a stack of twenty-dollar bills behind the counter.
“Hello, Claire,” she said, sliding the cash into a drawer. “Are we depositing another listing deposit for Daniel today?”
“Not today, Sarah,” I said, leaning against the cold marble counter. “I received an alert about our savings account this morning, and I wanted to verify the transaction.”
She tapped her fingers on the keyboard, her screen reflecting a pale green light onto her face.
