“I need to request the mortgage records for the Miller property on the creek road,” I said, keeping my voice low. “From the year 1971.”
Jenny looked puzzled. She tapped her fingers against the edge of her keyboard. “Those old files are stored in the basement vault. It takes a formal request from the account holder to pull them.”
“The account holder passed away in 1972,” I said. “But I have a personal interest in the transaction.”
“Let me see if I can find the index card,” Jenny said, reaching for a metal drawer behind her.
The door to the manager’s office at the back of the lobby opened with a soft click. Richard stepped out into the room.
He adjusted his wide leather belt, his large frame casting a long shadow across the marble floor. His face was red, and he was breathing heavily as he walked toward the counter.
“Is there a problem here, Jenny?” Richard asked, his voice booming through the high-ceilinged lobby.
“No, sir,” Jenny said, her hand stopping on the drawer handle. “Miss Martha was just asking to see some historical files from 1971.”
Richard stopped two feet from me. He did not look at Jenny. He looked down at me, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.
