Fourteen Years and a Single Ledger from the Autumn Election

placing my notebook on the table.

He looked down at my hand, pointing his fork at the black fountain pen resting near my saucer. “Some ink leaves a permanent mark, you know. Once it is on the page, you cannot simply scrub it away.”

“Our client has always maintained that his fundraising was entirely domestic,” I said, pouring my tea. “We are just trying continue reading …