“Your grandfather’s handwritten ledgers are locked up in there.

They’re yours now.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.

“For all of it.”

“I promised your grandfather I’d keep his books straight,” Arthur said, turning back toward his station wagon.

“Now the numbers add up.”

By half past one the sky had cleared to a pale blue, and Ethan and I drove the four miles out to the Pine Street storage unit.

The corrugated steel door rolled up with a loud, hollow clatter that echoed down the long row of garage bays.