Lena hesitated.
The folder sat beside her on the marble bench, worn soft from being carried everywhere. For a moment she looked as if handing it over would mean surrendering the last piece of herself.
Then she gave it to Arthur.
The old man opened it carefully.
Years of contracts.
Receipts.
Bank statements.
Payment confirmations.
Insurance records.
Every page was organized with almost painful precision.
Arthur flipped through them silently.
The lobby became very quiet.
Only the hum of fluorescent lights filled the space.
Then he stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
He turned back three pages.
