A stack of computer printouts bound in crisp blue legal backs sat on the desk between us, still warm from his secure printer.

“The decrypted bank logs came through the regional server at four thirty this morning,” Arthur said in his slow, dry, scholarly way.

I picked up the top sheet and felt the cold grain of the paper under my thumb.

The center column showed three separate wire transfers of a hundred thousand dollars apiece, along with two transfers of fifty thousand dollars each, all made within the past twenty-four months.

Every one of those withdrawals had been sent to an account belonging to Oakridge Commercial Assets, a shell company run out of a post office box in Columbus.