Richard’s office had a roll-top desk and a filing cabinet with two locks.

The top lock was brass and serious.

The bottom one was cheap, the kind that opens with a bent paperclip.

I waited until he left for his Tuesday lunch at the Rotary, then took a hairpin from my dresser.

The cabinet sat beside the window.

I knelt on the carpet and worked the hairpin until my fingers cramped.

The mantel clock chimed two before the drawer slid out.

The folder was right in front.