“He’ll have security,” Raymond said, reaching out to touch the corner of Theodore’s blue wool blanket.

“No one will ever threaten to put you out on the curb again.”

Downstairs, a car door closed softly in the rain outside the front porch.

Arthur Pendelton stepped out from behind the heavy linen curtains in the corner of the room, holding his leather briefcase by the brass lock.

He walked over to the nightstand, where the three fingerprinted petition pages lay flat under the lamp.

He checked each crisp black thumbprint under the light, nodded once to Raymond, and slipped the fingerprinted document into his leather folio.