“These are your handwritten carbon logs, Arthur,” Nathaniel said, keeping his deliberate voice low.

“Explain the four-thousand-dollar difference to the officer.”

The hearing officer pulled his glasses down his nose and leaned forward over his microphone.

“Where did this document come from, Mr.

Whitmore?”

“From the locked storage cabinet behind the Route 30 Diner,” Nathaniel said.

“Arthur left it behind three weeks ago.”

Arthur reached up with a thick thumb and straightened his silver tie bar, his wide smile thinning to a pale line as his attorney stopped tapping his pen.