“The branch manager is an old friend of my mother’s,” I said. “Arthur Pendelton. He lives in the townhouse behind the square, and he has the emergency access keys.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Daniel said. “Don’t go inside alone.”

“I’m close,” I said. “I’ll wait for you.”

I hung up, put the car in gear, and drove through the dark streets of Concord.

The historic brick buildings of the town square stood like silent sentinels under the dim streetlamps.

I parked a block away from the bank, wanting to keep my vehicle hidden from the main road.

I walked quickly down the wet sidewalk, my coat collar pulled up against the biting wind.

I knocked on the side door of Arthur Pendelton’s townhouse.

After a long moment, the porch light flickered on, and the elderly man opened the door, wearing a heavy wool cardigan.

“Claire, my dear,” Arthur said, adjusting his spectacles. “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“Arthur, I need your help,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “It is about my mother’s estate. It is an emergency.”