He looked at Caleb, then back at me.
“I was told the original file had been moved.”
“By whom?”
He lowered his eyes to the papers.
“I would rather not guess.”
I wrote 41,200 on the back of a grocery receipt from my coat pocket. Beneath it I wrote the date.
Caleb lifted the box again.
“You have been gone long enough to forget how this office works.”
“I remember enough.”
He carried the box toward the door, but stopped before leaving.
“Brother, you should let the paperwork settle before you start making accusations.”
“I asked one question.”
“And you wrote down the answer.”
He left with the box.
I stayed beside the cabinet until the bookkeeper gathered the remaining folders into a neat stack.
“Can I see the original transfer page?”
He hesitated.
“Not without permission.”
“Whose?”
He did not answer.
At ten, I met Caroline in the old storage room at the hospital, where dust covered the tops of metal cabinets and the only window faced a brick wall.
