It belonged to my father-in-law, Raymond.

The audit was complete.

The facts did not match the story.

They never had.

I have thought since about how strange and how fitting it was that the skill which saved my life was the least dramatic skill imaginable — not courage, exactly, not physical strength, but the plain professional habit of an auditor.

Because an audit, stripped to its essence, is an act of respectful distrust.

It does not assume anyone is lying.