He was afraid of it.

He’d carried it a long time.

“I’m giving it to you,” he said, “because you’re the only one left who might do the right thing with it instead of the profitable thing.” I took it.

And I want to be honest that Ferris Ledford did not live to see what I did with it — he was gravely ill, and he died not long after that night, and the manner of it frightened me and made me certain I was standing near something far larger and more dangerous than a bad marriage.

But the ledger was real, and it was in my hands, and it changed what this was.

Chapter 13 — What the Ledger Was