“I want everything,” Julian replied. “The shell companies in Panama, the shipping manifests for the northern freight lines, and the names of the port authorities.”

He leaned against the counter, his wet coat hanging open to reveal a dark gray suit.

“Arthur never appreciated the detail of your work,” he said. “He thought the money just appeared.”

“Arthur thought he was the only one who mattered,” I said.

“A common flaw in men who inherit their power,” Julian said.

He picked up the gold pen and unscrewed the cap.

The threads of the pen made a tiny, metallic scraping sound.

“I am offering you five million dollars,” Julian said.

He wrote the number on the top check in neat, upright figures.

“That is a very large number for a stack of encrypted files,” I said.

“It is a bargain for the keys to the city,” Julian said.

He turned the checkbook around so it faced me.

The ink was blue, still wet enough to glisten under the light.

“All I need is the thumb drive,” Julian said. “The one you took from Arthur’s safe the night you walked out.”