“What did you tell her?”

“Not a thing.”

“Keep telling her nothing.

Put the paperwork somewhere that takes a key, not a code.”

Marcus’s receptionist kept me waiting eleven minutes past two thirty, and then Marcus came out himself and walked me back, which he had never done before.

He sat, straightened his blotter, and picked up the gold fountain pen.

“I need certified copies of the trust’s financial schedules,” I said.

“All four quarters back to January, with the brokerage statements attached.”