Behind a stack of old corporate tax returns sat a small, heavy steel lockbox.

Inside the lockbox was a blue leather pocket ledger with Walter’s initials stamped in faded gold on the cover.

A small brass lock held the leather strap closed on the side.

Soft footsteps sounded on the rug in the doorway behind me.

Arthur Vance stepped into the study with his heavy leather binder under his left arm.

He shut the door firmly behind him, leaving us in quiet shadow.

“Arthur,” I said.