Bradley spoke, quietly, so that only I could hear.

“Frances.

I need you to stay right where you are for a moment.”

I sank back into the chair.

“What is it, Mr.

Bradley?”

He rose, came around that great desk carrying a thick yellow envelope, and took the seat directly beside me — not across the desk, but beside me, close, the way you sit with someone when what you have to say is not business but something nearer the heart.

He placed the envelope into my hands.