He slit the envelope and slid out a drive in a gray static bag, a folded page, and an invoice.

“Chain of custody signed at eight oh five this morning.

Two signatures, notarized.”

“Who else knows it exists?”

“You, me, a man named Barlow, and his son, who did the copying.” He unfolded the cover letter.

He read it without moving his lips, and then he stopped reading.

“What?”

“October sixteenth.