Patrick didn’t blink.

He looked past my shoulder toward the main avenue, checking whether any of his junior partners were coming out of the building.

“You’re misreading standard financial paperwork,” he said.

“Two years ago I told you to leave corporate accounting to people who understand commercial law.”

“I was lying in a hospital bed at Oakridge Memorial on March fourteenth,” I said, taking one deliberate step toward him.

“I was hooked to an IV line with a bad flu.