Money leaves a trail that nobody bothered to disguise. A payment to a firm no one has heard of, a withdrawal at an hour when the bank was shut, a balance that drops to nothing the week before somebody vanishes: put the account on paper and let the players do the arithmetic.
The institution and its branch, the holder and their address, the account number, the period and the sheet, the balance brought forward, then a table of transactions — date, details, paid out, paid in and the balance after each. Under it the totals of both columns and the closing balance, which the page adds up from your figures, so the sums on the handout are right even when yours were not. A line of small print and a stamp finish it.
A 1920s statement typed on a bookkeeping machine, an Eastern Bloc savings passbook with the cashier’s stamp, an online banking printout, a megacorp credit ledger on tractor-feed paper, and a fantasy counting-house extract under a wax seal. A5, with an A4 export for a full-size printout, at 300 DPI. A page of any other kind of table is a Register, and the report written once the account was frozen is an Official Form.