“I’m not asking for a discussion, Mr.

Reed,” I said.

“I’m asking you to compare two numbers.”

He looked down at the sealed envelope in my hand, then gestured toward his private office.

“Come inside,” he said.

I sat down across from his walnut desk and laid the garage verification sheet beside his desk lamp.

Samuel Reed polished his thin wire-frame glasses on his tie, put them back on, and picked up the paper.

“What is this document?” he asked.