“From the locked secondary archive box in Gene Miller’s hardware store safe,” I said.

“It was opened with the brass key Frank Miller gave me on his deathbed in hospice.”

The court bailiff came forward, took the affidavit from my hand, and carried it up the steps to the bench.

Judge Vance switched on his flexible desk lamp and pulled a heavy magnifying lens over the document.

The whole courtroom went quiet except for the low hum of the radiator under the side window.

Gene checked his gold wristwatch for the fourth time in fifteen minutes, his hand shaking so badly the metal band clicked against his sleeve button.