A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
The registrar’s counter was situated behind a partition of reinforced glass, leaving only a narrow gap at the bottom for documents. A woman with silver-rimmed reading glasses looked up from her computer screen as I approached. I checked my wristwatch immediately. Two minutes past two.
“I am looking for historical billing records from ten years ago,” I said, keeping my voice level and professional. “Specifically, the tuition ledger for Jordan Hayes.”
The registrar, whose name tag read Mrs. Gable, adjusted her glasses and looked at me with the practiced neutrality of a long-time academic clerk. “Those files are archived in our off-site digital database. Are you the account holder?”
I placed my driver’s license on the laminate counter between us. She verified the name, her eyes moving from the plastic card to my face and back again before sliding the card back through the gap.
“It takes some time to retrieve records from that specific transition period,” she said, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. “Is there a specific discrepancy you are trying to resolve?”
“We are conducting a personal family audit,” I said, utilizing the standard operational phrasing I used with our clients at Mid-Valley Tech. “For tax reconciliation purposes.”
