He’s waiting for you inside.”

At three o’clock that afternoon I walked into the dining room.

Arthur sat at the head of the long oak table, surrounded by three yellow legal pads and a pile of printed financial statements.

He folded his newspaper tight the second I came in, creasing it between his fingers until the paper ripped down the spine.

“You signed a paper letting Julian move office equipment into my hallway,” I said.

“Sit down, Eleanor,” Arthur said, his voice loud and commanding.