I unbuckled the brass latches on my leather briefcase and clicked them open on the polished mahogany desktop.

“These are certified state records,” I said, laying the first green-bordered document on the leather blotter.

“They were stamped by the county registrar and signed by the chief of obstetrics at St.

Jude Hospital eight years ago.”

Richard picked up his silver reading glasses from the corner of the blotter and unfolded the arms with a precise double click.

He didn’t look at Ethan, who was still standing three feet behind my shoulder near the mahogany bookcase.

“Four live births,” Richard said, running his thumb over the raised seal pressed into the thick paper.