“Where is the address on the invoice?” Lydia asked.

“South Boston,” I said. “Four-hundred-and-two D Street.”

“That area has been redeveloped, but some of the old firms just changed names,” Lydia said. “Let me search the corporate registry.”

I waited in the dark kitchen, the refrigerator humming against the silence.

“Here it is,” Lydia said after a few minutes of typing. “Whitaker Consulting dissolved five years ago, but its assets and physical files were acquired by a firm called Boston Corporate Intelligence. The principal is a man named Thomas Vance.”

“Does he still have the old records?” I asked.

“By law, they have to keep them for ten years,” Lydia said. “I know Vance. He’s a retired state trooper who does background checks for high-end boutique firms. He likes money, but he hates being dragged into court.”

“Call him,” I said. “Tell him I am on my way.”

“Evelyn, it’s four in the morning.”

“Then he has six hours to get to his office before Vivian takes my company,” I said.

I hung up before she could argue.