I used clear tape to mend the torn pages.

It was slow, precise work.

It kept my hands steady.

One afternoon in the fifth year, Agent Miller came to see me.

He was wearing a gray suit, and he looked older.

We sat in the attorney room.

“Leo Vance died in the medical wing at Terre Haute,” Miller said.

He set a small manila envelope on the metal table.

“He had a heart attack during his morning walk.”

I looked at the envelope.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“The threat is gone, Adrian,” Miller said.

“The crew has completely disbanded.”

“There is no one left who wants to hurt your family.”

“Where are they?” I asked.

“They are in Oregon,” Miller said.

“Claire bought a small house near the coast.”

“She is teaching music at a middle school.”

“And the child?”

“Lily,” Miller said.

“She is five years old now.”

“She has her mother’s hair.”

I reached out and touched the corner of the envelope.

“There is a photo inside,” Miller said.

“Claire wanted me to give it to you.”