At two o’clock, I set the yellow plastic foreclosure tag on Arthur Vance’s blotter.

“Where did you get this?” Vance asked.

“The front gate,” I said.

“Victoria turned off the driveway lights so nobody would see the bank auditor attaching it.”

Arthur Vance laid his heavy brass pen across his leather binder.

He reached into his coat pocket, took out a small steel key, and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk.

Inside sat a heavy gray fireproof box.

“Your father gave me explicit instructions for the day you brought me proof of Victoria’s hidden default,” he said.