At half past ten, I walked down the hall to Julian’s study carrying his steel tape measure.

The heavy oak door was slightly open, and a single desk lamp lit the brass fittings on his filing cabinet.

Julian sat in his leather swivel chair with a glass of whiskey beside his open foundation ledger.

“You left your tape measure upstairs,” I said, setting it beside his glass.

“Thank you,” he said without looking up from his papers.

“I noticed a wire transfer of forty-one thousand two hundred dollars on the October quarterly summary,” I said.