By eight fifteen the next morning, the main accounting office was silent, lit only by pale morning light falling in slanted bars across the linoleum.

I fit my master key into the lock of Rebecca’s old gray filing cabinet in the corner behind the water cooler.

The metal drawer rolled out with a heavy rattle that sounded loud in the empty room.

Inside, two dozen hanging folders sat in neat rows, their plastic tabs typed in clear black letters.

I reached past the routine tax files and pulled out the green cloth ledger binder that held the past year’s quarterly write-offs.

The cloth cover felt rough against my palms, cool from the morning chill in the unheated office.