I turned on the desk lamp and opened the bottom drawer.

I pulled out the locked fireproof box and turned the small brass key.

Inside lay the large white envelope I had prepared on Wednesday.

It held the printed real estate draft, thirty-eight thousand dollars’ worth of bank transfer receipts, and the printed email from Rebecca Sloan.

I ran my thumb over the thick paper edge, then placed the envelope in my suitcase and zipped the main compartment shut.

It was half past four when I carried my bag down the front stairs.