He stopped with his espresso cup halfway to his mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Why do you ask?” he said.

“The old valley property deed is missing from the bottom folder,” I said.

“You probably misplaced it weeks ago,” he said, taking a measured sip.

“You’ve been forgetting simple things all month.”

He smiled down at me, warm and reasonable, as if he were speaking to a child who had lost her homework.

I held his gaze, my right hand resting over the hard plastic cylinder inside my pocket.

At eight thirty the following morning, I sat at the kitchen table in Chloe’s third-floor apartment.