Chapter 9: The Sticky Note

That night I stayed at my desk until the cleaners came through.

At seven the floor was empty. I switched off my monitor and walked down the hall to the file room.

I had logged every box that came in or out of that closet for three years.

The records vendor sent me a slip each time someone requested an old file. I filed the slips in a gray tray under my desk.

I had never read them. Why would I?

Tonight I read the whole tray.

It took twenty minutes. The slips were in date order, and I found it near the bottom.

Requested in February, eight months ago. Merchants Building lease, original and all amendments.

Requested by G. Lund.

Returned the next day. It was still shelved in the file room, box 14, third from the top.

I pulled it down and set it on the table under the bad light.

The lease was thick and old-fashioned, typed on a typewriter in 1994. The paper was soft at the corners from being held.

My father's signature was on the last page, square and plain.

I flipped back to the first.

Under Owner it said E. Harlan, with a mailing address in Dormont.

Under Notices it listed a second name, in the same careful handwriting.

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