“I lost my wife,” I said. “And my sons almost lost their mother before they even knew her.”

“That is a tragedy, yes,” Croft said, his tone softening only slightly.

“But poverty will not bring back the dead, nor will it cure Claire Bennett.”

He stood up, buttoning his expensive wool suit coat.

“I will leave these documents with you for the evening,” he said.

“Read them carefully.”

“Consult with your own conscience, if you must.”

“But remember that the board is watching you.”

He reached for his briefcase and closed the lid with a sharp snap of the brass latches.

“I will call you tomorrow morning at nine,” he said.

“I expect to hear that this matter has been resolved privately.”

He began to walk toward the double doors of the library.

My hand tightened into a fist in my pocket.

“Mr. Croft,” I called out.

He stopped, his hand resting on the polished brass doorknob.

He turned his head slightly, looking at me over his shoulder.

“Yes, Daniel?” he asked.

“My father is dead,” I said, my voice steady and cold.