Standing behind Dustin was a woman in a navy blazer, still wearing the name badge from my credit union. Kendra Fields, Member Services. My stomach dropped. I knew her immediately. I had sat across from her desk at least a dozen times, depositing birthday checks and overtime pay into my children’s savings while she smiled, asked about Felix and Clara, and complimented their names. Now she stood beside my husband—the same Kendra whose name appeared throughout the messages Ingrid had uncovered.

Ingrid opened the door with her phone already recording. Dustin stepped forward, demanding his belongings, until he noticed the packed boxes and newly changed lock. Kendra remained behind him, staring at the floor. Ingrid calmly lifted one of the withdrawal forms. “Ms. Fields,” she asked, “you notarized this signature. Was Rosalie standing in front of you when she signed it?” Kendra looked at Dustin, and suddenly her face crumpled.

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