I paid the vault clerk ninety-two dollars in cash for an emergency archive research permit.

The fee used up the last ninety-two dollars in my summer school savings envelope, but I pushed the bills across the counter without a second thought.

Arlene led us down a winding concrete staircase into the basement vault, where floor-to-ceiling metal shelves held leather-bound vital records ledgers going back half a century.

“The county kept paper books until the state went digital in ninety-five,” Arlene said, pushing her reading glasses up onto her head.

The vault smelled of damp cardboard, iron and floor wax.