Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“I cannot see the destination details from this terminal,” Linda said, her face softening with a touch of genuine sympathy. “But it was authorized using the primary user’s credentials. Your husband’s login.”
She reached for a small printed form on her desk and looked toward the offices at the back.
“Let me get Mr. Henderson,” she said. “He is the assistant branch manager. He can pull the full tracking log for you in his office.”
She rose from her stool and walked toward a glass-walled office at the back of the lobby.
I stood at the counter, my fingers pressed hard against the cold black stone. The three thousand dollars we had saved for the triplets’ winter clothes and emergency pediatric visits had vanished into a digital ledger while I was cleaning baby bottles at the kitchen sink.
Mr. Henderson, a man in his late fifties with graying hair and a neat blue tie, stepped out of the office. He signaled for me to follow him.
The door to his office clicked shut, blocking out the low hum of the lobby.
