I slid the brown envelope with the bank wire logs under the binder’s cover.

Then I pushed the heavy oak drawer closed until the brass lock clicked, pulled the key out, and tucked it deep into my coat pocket.

At a quarter to seven the next morning, I took my hand out of my coat pocket, standing in the cold dust of the warehouse lot.

The head foreman, Miller, handed me the yellow clipboard with the crane safety logs.

Diesel exhaust from the idling dozers hung thick in the damp air.