“Where’s authorization form forty-two?” I asked.

Valerie didn’t flinch.

She leaned back in her rolling chair, twisting the thin gold ring on her right middle finger, her blue eyes locked on mine.

“Form forty-two was archived last month, Mr.

Callahan,” she said, her voice brisk and loud enough to reach the filing cabinets at the back.

“The hard copy is missing from the binder,” I said.

“The stub from eight months ago for forty-one thousand two hundred dollars.”