“Five million is a figure on a statement.

The money sits in three funds and a farm lease up in Platte County.”

“Marcus wants his fee,” I said.

“Fifteen percent of anything he can call converted.”

I left the cords coiled and the lamps unplugged, and I didn’t touch the thick brown envelope under my desk lamp.

Olivia glanced at it once from the hall and said nothing, which was her way of agreeing.

“You left the fake ledger where she can get at it,” she said at last.