Winston grabbed for his breast pocket as if a phone could fix arithmetic.

“This is private property.”

“Not for long,” Kira said.

I held out my hand for the folder, and she gave it to me, and its weight was very satisfying — the particular heft of a thing that is finally, formally true.

“Your family spent the afternoon wanting to know where I belonged on this boat,” I said, and my own voice was calm enough to frighten me a little.

“It turns out the answer is above the signature line.”