Fourteen Years and a Single Ledger from the Autumn Election

room, where the empty cardboard boxes were stacked against the wall. Martha was already at the main desk, her leather satchel open and waiting.

“I will take the primary files now, Eleanor,” she said, her voice businesslike.

I looked at the green folders I had spent months organizing, each tab labeled in my neat, formal script. My hand hovered over the continue reading …