“Sit down, please.”

I sat down and laid the yellowed business card on his green desk blotter.

I put the muddy blue passbook right next to it.

Arthur leaned forward in his chair, studying the faded red stamp in the book.

He cleared his throat loudly.

“She actually kept it,” he said.

“She hid it,” I said.

“My father threw it in the mud at her grave and told me it was worthless.”