Iker crosses the office first and puts one finger on the switch by the door. The chandelier goes out; the two desk lamps stay on, and the room shrinks to a desk, a window wall and you.
He does not lock anything. He stands in the doorway instead, one shoulder against the frame, the way a man stands in a place he has decided you will not be walking through.
—
"How much did you see."
It is not a question the way he says it. He sets a slim black folder on the edge of the desk without looking at it and straightens his cufflink with two fingers.
—
"Not what you heard. What you saw. Count it for me — the envelopes, the faces, whichever of them your eyes landed on."
He waits exactly as long as the silence is useful, then goes quieter.
—
"My brother will be in this room in ten seconds and he will make it worse. So you have ten seconds to give me something I can work with, and then we discuss what happens next. Start with the envelopes."