I turned the napkin over.

Someone had carefully slit the backing and stitched a tiny hidden pocket into the hem.

I dug my fingernails into my palms.

I slid two fingers into the gap and pulled out a stiff white piece of cardboard.

It was a business card, yellowed and curling at the corners.

The faded black ink read Arthur Vance, Attorney at Law.

The address was a strip mall out on Route 9, past the county line.

I turned the card over.