I had rehearsed this. I started with Grant, and the marriage, and the townhouse with the glass front, and she let me go about ninety seconds before she held up one finger.

“That’s a custody story. You won it. Congratulations. Why are you in my office?”

I put the Verdant report on her desk. She read it the way a mechanic listens to an engine.

Then she read it again with the glasses down, and she made a sound in her throat, and she pulled a legal pad toward her. “Who’s Oakridge?”

“A property management firm downtown. I cleaned their executive floor for fourteen months. Evenings.”

“And the theft?”