“The controlling shareholder,” he said, “has ordered a comprehensive forensic audit of the company.”

My father called my cell phone seventeen times in a row.

I let all seventeen ring out, and I answered the eighteenth.

“What,” he roared, and I could hear the panic under the fury, the sound of a man feeling the floor he had stood on for twenty years begin to tilt, “did you do?”

I looked at my grandfather’s mahogany box, sitting open now on my own coffee table.

“Nothing yet,” I said, quietly.