“Count them twice.

He’ll ask you.”

The door swung shut on the tote.

I counted twice.

Thirty-one.

The bottom folder had no stamp at all, just a blank tab and a line of dust along one edge.

At noon I carried my lunch bag up to the third floor and found Charles at the window table with his sandwich laid out on its wax paper.

He had the window propped open two inches with a folded square of cardboard.