It was stamped with a serial number.

I drove to the corporate offices of Rourke Regional Mobility.

The rain had started, a light mist that blurred the streetlights along the highway.

The glass tower was mostly dark against the night sky.

I used my executive badge at the side entrance.

The card reader beeped, and the green light flashed.

I walked past the empty reception desk and took the private elevator to the executive suite.

The sixteenth floor was silent.

My heels made no sound on the thick, plush carpet of the hallway.

I entered Gavin’s office.

It smelled of his expensive mahogany cologne and stale coffee.

I walked behind his desk, where a large oil painting of the Chesapeake Bay hung.

I reached behind the frame and felt the latch.

The painting swung forward on its hinges, revealing the digital safe.

There was a keyhole beneath the electronic keypad.

I inserted the brass key and turned it.

The lock clicked open with a heavy metallic sound.

Inside lay a thick, black leather-bound ledger.

I opened it.

The pages were filled with Gavin’s neat, block handwriting.