His hand slid away and he began to rotate the signet ring on his pinky.

“Your signature is on the page, so there is nothing to discuss.” He picked up his coffee, took a slow deliberate sip, told me he expected the guest list ready for his mother by three, and did not look at me again as he unfolded the morning paper.

That afternoon the folder was gone from the desktop.

I pulled the middle drawer and it did not budge, so I used the small brass spare from the kitchen drawer where the household keys were kept, and it turned with a faint scraping click.

Three green hanging folders.