Dates.

Nicole had both cups poured by the time I came up her stairs at seven thirty, and she had a strip of colored labels stuck around her wrist like a bracelet.

“Blue is for the money,” she said.

“Red is for the signatures.

Green is for where you were standing when they say you signed.”

I put the briefcase down on her desk and opened the brass clasp.

We put the binders together on her conference table, four of them lined up side by side.