The Visitor In Gray Asked To Count Other People's Books

I left the envelope sealed on Benedict's desk.

Then I sent Mara a picture of the words visible through its window.

She called while I was still standing beside the desk.

"Don't agree to any movement," she said. "Keep your own intake records safe. I'll send a preservation notice now."

I copied the client records from the company drive to a clean folder. As a member and the conservator, I had access to every one. I kept the dates and file names intact.

Then I called the owners of the two missing books.

"Did you give anyone permission to move your atlas?" I asked Mr. Voss.

"No. Why would I? You said the paper needed rest."

"I'm checking its location. I'll call you again by noon tomorrow."

I made the same promise to Elena Alvarez. I didn't ask either of them to stay quiet.

At nine the next morning, a woman in a gray coat came through the shop door. She carried a tablet and a small flashlight.

"Diane Price," she said. "Granite Vale Finance. I'm here for Mr. Shaw's collateral review."

Benedict came out smiling.

"Everything's ready. Ayanna, coffee, please."

I stayed by the door.

"I'm Ayanna Givens. I own half the studio, and I hold the treatment records. Which books are you inspecting?"

Diane glanced at him.

"His collection."

"There is no collection here belonging to him."

His smile went flat.

"She means that loosely. We keep work and personal items together."

"No," I said. "We don't."

Diane opened a list on her tablet. I saw eleven entries, each with a short title and a value. The Voss atlas was listed at $42,000. The Alvarez Bible was listed at $18,000. All eleven added up to $124,000.

"May I have a copy?" I asked.

"It's part of his loan file."

"Then please call your office. Those are client goods held for repair. Here's our intake list."

I put the list on the stone slab. Next to each title was an owner's name, a date, and a shelf number.

"Don't hand out private client details," Benedict snapped.

I covered the phone numbers with a blank sheet.

"The names and signatures will go through our lawyer."

Diane stepped outside with her phone. Through the glass, I watched her stop pacing and begin taking notes.

Benedict leaned toward me.

"Do you know what you're doing to Friday?"

"Where are the atlas and the Bible?"

"Safe."

"At what address?"

"I didn't steal anything. This is bridge money."

"A bridge to what?"

"A business that pays."

He said the loan was $58,000. He had borrowed under his new trade name, Shaw Fine Paper. He said he would repay it from holiday orders before anyone needed their books back.

"You used their books to buy your cases?"

"The books were just security. They wouldn't even know."

Diane came back in.

"Our counsel wants the ownership records sent today. We won't inspect further right now."

"You already have my invoices," Benedict said.

The room went still.

"What invoices?" I asked.

He reached for his phone.

"Book purchases. Routine internal transfers."

I had never sold a client book. The company had never owned one to sell.

Diane gave me the lender's legal contact and left. Mara spoke to that office within the hour. By noon, it sent copies of the papers it had relied on, with Benedict's written consent after she demanded them.

There were eleven supposed sales, all dated the same Tuesday. Each said East Fold had sold a book to Benedict for $1.

He had signed as seller and buyer.

I sat at the one bare corner of my bench and checked each page against our records. One supposed sale fell on the day Elena had brought her Bible in. Her receipt said, in plain print, Ownership Remains With Client.

Her signature sat below that line.

So did mine.

I touched a dried spot on its edge. Rice paste. I remembered fixing the envelope flap while Elena told me about her grandfather reading names from that Bible.

The memory made me want to yell.

Instead, I numbered the pages.

Benedict stood in the doorway.

"Tell them you approved the transfers. I'll give you $10,000 when we open."

I saved the message he sent when I wouldn't answer aloud. It offered the same amount for the same lie.

At one, Mara called. The lender had frozen new advances, but a carrier order was still active. Her written demand to cancel it had not yet brought a reply.

Then my phone lit up with Benedict's text.

"At four today, a carrier will collect the remaining collateral. Stay out of the way."