Fourteen Years and a Single Ledger from the Autumn Election

secretaries already packing their bags for the evening. Martha was waiting at the main desk, a yellow legal pad covered in her sharp, angular handwriting.

“Did you get them?” she asked, rising from her chair as I walked in.

“They are certified,” I said, pulling the thick envelope from my briefcase and breaking the red paper seal.

We spread the white pages continue reading …