"All right," he said quietly, as though answering someone beside him. "I'll take you home."
He bought a cheap plastic pouch from a pharmacy to protect the wallet from rain and called Alice to say he would be late. She asked whether his truck had finally fallen apart, and he told her he had found something important that needed returning. She did not ask what it was. Her only instruction was to be careful on the roads, which made him smile because he was still several blocks from home and had not brought the truck.
The estate's address took him to a neighborhood of high walls, iron gates, and lawns that remained green long after the rest of the city turned brown. Daniel came on foot from the nearest bus stop, the wallet sealed in its pouch inside his canvas jacket. By the time he reached the Sterling property, rain had darkened his sleeves and collected along the seams of his work boots. The mansion beyond the gate was pale stone and long windows, standing behind a drive that curved through enough landscaping to resemble the entrance to a private park.
A security guard stepped out of a booth before Daniel could press the intercom. His name badge read Marcus, and he took one look at the worn jacket and tool-scarred hands before deciding how the conversation was likely to go. "Private residence," he said. "Deliveries go to the service entrance."
"I'm not delivering a package," Daniel answered. "I found something that belongs to Ms. Sterling. I'd like to return it."
"Leave it with me."
Daniel glanced toward the house. "I'd prefer to give it to her directly."
The guard's expression tightened. "People say that all the time. Most of them want to sell something, and the others want a photograph."
"I don't want either."
"Then you won't mind leaving the item at the gate."
Daniel took a slow breath. Nothing in the man's suspicion surprised him. A job like that probably meant distinguishing the harmless from the dangerous for hours at a time, and Daniel knew appearances could make that task unfair. He still wanted a clear handoff. "Please tell her someone found her wallet downtown," he said. "If she wants me to leave it here after that, I will."
Marcus looked at him sharply. "You have her wallet?"
"I believe so."
The guard stepped farther beneath the awning. "Then put your hands where I can see them while I call the house."
Daniel held his hands in plain view, not because he thought he was dangerous but because he had learned that keeping a difficult interaction calm was often the quickest way through it. Marcus spoke into his radio. Another voice answered. Then there was a silence long enough for Daniel to hear the rain tapping against the ornamental ironwork.
"Someone's coming," Marcus said at last. "Stay right there."
Daniel nodded. He watched a pair of headlights move slowly through the distant gate of another estate and wondered whether Claire would have laughed at the sight of him standing in the rain outside a mansion with more windows than their whole neighborhood. She would have said, with that familiar brightness in her voice, that no good deed was ever allowed to happen without somebody making it complicated first. He almost smiled.
Then the front door of the Sterling house opened, and a tall woman came out beneath a broad umbrella. She walked quickly down the steps with a leather folder tucked against her chest, as if she had been interrupted in the middle of a far more important task. Even from a distance Daniel could see that she had already decided he was trouble. Her name was Linda Whitfield, and before the night ended she would give him every reason to remember it.
Linda Whitfield had served as deputy director of corporate administration at Sterling Living for nearly nine years. Her office overlooked the river, her clothes were always immaculate, and she approached uncertainty as though it were a stain someone had carelessly left on the furniture. She had earned Victoria's trust by anticipating risks before they became costly. Somewhere along the way, however, she had begun treating human beings as risks to be managed rather than people to be understood.
She approached the gate with Marcus walking a step behind her. "You say you have Ms. Sterling's property?" she asked Daniel without offering her name. "How did you acquire it?"
"I found it on the sidewalk near her downtown office."
"And you decided to bring it to a private residence instead of turning it in?" Linda's eyes traveled from the wet jacket to the scuffed boots. "That seems an unusual choice."
"It has identification inside. I thought she might want it back tonight."
"People do not simply discover a wealthy woman's wallet and carry it across town with no expectations."
Daniel shifted the protective pouch from one hand to the other. "Sometimes they do."
"How much money have you removed?"
He looked at her for the first time with an expression that was no longer merely patient. "None."
Linda turned toward Marcus. "Call the police nonemergency line. We should establish how this individual came into possession of her belongings before we let him through the gate."
Daniel considered placing the pouch on the stone ledge and leaving. He had a table leg waiting at home, dinner still to make, and no interest in convincing people who seemed determined not to believe him. But he pictured the ring beside the photograph, and the thought of it sitting for hours in a security booth made him hold his ground. "Please just tell her the wallet is here," he said. "After that, I'll do whatever she wants."
"You are not in a position to set terms," Linda replied.
The house door opened again. Victoria Sterling stepped onto the top stair, one hand resting against the doorframe. She had heard the word wallet over the internal intercom and come down before Ethan could stop her. The evening had left her exhausted, and for a moment she looked less like the woman from the business magazines and more like someone who had misplaced a crucial piece of herself.