It was a clinic invoice for twelve thousand four hundred dollars, dated the previous September. I ran my finger down the three-page summary of lab fees until I reached the final page, where the billing information was printed in small grey type.
The account number at the bottom did not match the foundation’s main account.
Instead, the billing code was listed as 408-09.
Our foundation records had never used that prefix.
I folded the invoice, slipped it into my coat pocket, and took my keys from the counter.
The commercial branch of Oak Creek First National had the same high plaster ceilings as the day my father opened my first savings account there.
A young bank teller named Marcus sat behind the heavy marble counter, his fingers tapping against the polished wood as he pulled up the foundation’s historical files.
“I need the reserve fund statements from last October,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Specifically any transactions over fifty thousand dollars.”
