Ellen had worked for the same regional bank for twenty-three years before retiring.
She had started as a teller and eventually managed loan documentation for small businesses.
“What does a banker have to do with an MMA gym?”
“Thomas wasn’t a banker. He was an accountant who worked with several businesses that borrowed through us.”
Marcy frowned.
“Did he work with Ray?”
“I don’t remember Ray Mercer’s name. But Thomas handled paperwork for fitness centers, restaurants, construction companies. Mostly family-owned places.”
“And?”
Ellen folded her hands.
“There were complaints.”
“What kind?”
“Nothing dramatic. Paperwork that arrived late. Numbers that had to be corrected. Business owners insisting they had signed documents they later claimed they had never seen.”
“Was he charged with anything?”
“No.”
“So maybe it was sloppy accounting.”
“Maybe.”
But Ellen did not sound convinced.
I had been married to her thirty-four years.
I knew the difference between Ellen being uncertain and Ellen choosing her words carefully.
