The copier started up.

The office smelled of toner and the diner coffee we buy by the box, and the phone rang the way it does on any ordinary Tuesday.

She answered, wrote a line on her pad, and held the receiver against her shoulder.

“A man named Decker wants a quarterly audit.

A small trucking company out of Joliet.”

“Where did he hear my name?”

“He says a man at his church told him to call.” She turned the page.