Later that day, I found myself back in my small office, the hum of the city outside my window a constant reminder of the world continuing to turn. I decided to call the bank manager, hoping she could shed some light on the situation. “Hello, this is Rachel Thompson,” I began, my voice steady despite the uncertainty I felt. “I was wondering if we could discuss the envelope you gave me earlier today.” There was a pause on the other end of the line before she responded. “Ah, yes, Ms. Thompson. I apologize for any confusion. That envelope was meant for internal review, but it seems there was a mix-up.” Her explanation was plausible, yet something about her tone suggested there was more to the story. “I understand,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But I’d appreciate any additional information you might have. It seems rather unusual, don’t you think?”
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