He stepped past me into the warm kitchen without waiting for an invitation.

He closed his umbrella, shaking the water onto the linoleum floor, and stood near the doorway.

“Your old boss is having a terrible night,” Julian said, looking around the small, sparse kitchen.

“So the Commissioner told me,” I said.

“Arthur’s men tried to fight for Pier 42,” Julian said. “It was very messy. Very unprofessional.”

“Arthur does not handle logistics well under pressure,” I said.

“No,” Julian agreed. “He doesn’t. He relies on people who do.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a leather-bound checkbook and a heavy gold pen.

He laid them on the kitchen table, right next to the disassembled pieces of my burner phone.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Clara,” Julian said. “I want to buy what Arthur was too stupid to keep.”

He uncapped the pen and looked up at me.

“Name your price for the ledgers,” he said. “And I will write the check before I leave this house.”

I looked down at the gold pen.