“Thank you, Paula,” I said, setting the phone down on the blotter.

Daniel had knowingly refused immediate specialist care for a growing mass, signed my name so the hospital staff wouldn’t call my office, and driven Grace home to keep his secret safe.

I picked up the briefcase again, turned it upside down, and tipped it forward over the green blotter.

A heavy black leather ledger slid out of the bottom compartment and landed flat beside a bundle of unopened envelopes stamped with red collection notices.

Under the ledger lay four yellow carbon receipts from a wire transfer service on Main Street, each dated within two days of the dates on Grace’s school attendance log from September.