He stared at me for five seconds.

Then he smiled, a quick, humorless flash of white teeth.

“You really did learn everything from him,” Julian said.

“No,” I said. “I learned everything by watching him fail.”

He reached down, took the gold pen, and capped it with a loud click.

“I will give you until noon tomorrow,” Julian said. “I want the first half of the files delivered to the terminal office.”

“By courier,” I said. “Not by me.”

“By courier,” he agreed. “But if the data is incomplete, the check will be canceled.”

“The data is complete,” I said. “I do not do sloppy work.”

He picked up his umbrella from the floor.

A small puddle of rainwater had formed on the linoleum where it had been resting.

“Goodnight, Clara,” he said.

“Goodnight, Julian.”

He walked to the back door, opened it, and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The door clicked shut behind him, the latch catching with a heavy thud.

I stood in the kitchen for a long minute, listening to the sound of his car engine starting in the driveway.