Chapter 19: The Safe

"Don't listen to her," Gilbert said, quite loudly. "She's my daughter, and she's confused."

The detective looked at the younger man beside her.

"Where is the safe?" she asked Gretchen.

"His office. The corner one."

"The combination?"

Gretchen swallowed.

"My mother's birthday," she said. "He thinks nobody knows."

Gilbert moved for the door.

The younger detective stepped into his way, politely, and he stopped.

"You'll all come with us," the detective in the gray coat said. "Press too, if you like. I'd like witnesses."

She said it without any heat, and a dozen reporters were on their feet before she finished.

The whole boardroom crowded down the hall behind us.

Gilbert's corner office had a window onto the lake and a carpet so thick that my heels sank.

The safe stood behind a painting of a sailboat.

The younger detective swung the painting aside.

Gretchen recited six numbers, and her voice broke on the last one.

The door opened with a clunk.

Inside were three shelves.

The detective took out a gray binder first and laid it open on the desk.

It was the twin of the one Gretchen had shown the board, only older.

The paper had turned yellow at the edges and its staples were brown with rust.

"This is the real forgery," Gretchen said, hoarsely. "The one he made in the kitchen. The one in the boardroom was a copy for the board."

The detective turned the pages with a gloved finger.

Under the binder lay a ledger with the same four shell account names.

Under that, a printer's receipt from Gary, Indiana, twelve years old, stapled to a stack of stamp proofs.

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