I looked at the old metal filing cabinets in the corner.

I looked at the stacks of delivery invoices.

At seven o’clock, someone knocked hard on the front glass door.

It was Carl Gable.

He wore his heavy wool overcoat and had a thick manila envelope under his right arm.

I walked up to the front counter and unbolted the door.

“I’m sorry to come by so late,” Carl said.

He stepped inside and brushed the cold off his sleeves.