“That isn’t where you keep a tab.”

There was a green folder in the box, the third one down, and I knew the color before I touched it, because every folder in my father’s study was that same green.

There was nothing in it.

Not empty and forgotten.

Empty and squared off, the crease pressed flat, the tab slot clean.

Marcus adjusted his glasses and went quiet for a moment, which is what he does right before he tells me something he would rather not.

“All the drawers were open when I walked in,” I said.