After he left, I sat alone with the papers, tracing the transactions with my finger as if they’d reveal their secrets under my touch. Each transfer, each withdrawal was a thread leading to a larger web I couldn’t yet see. I needed more information, something concrete to challenge his narrative. I decided to visit the bank again, this time prepared to dig deeper.
The bank manager greeted me with the same practiced smile, but her eyes held a hint of concern. “Back again?” she asked, motioning for me to sit. I explained my suspicions, my voice low, cautious. She nodded, typing swiftly. “We can request a detailed transaction history,” she offered, her tone professional yet empathetic. “It might take a few days, but it should shed some light on where the funds have been going.”
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