The small meeting room at nine, the blinds half down, and Tello has already laid out three sheets of paper in a fan, squared to the table edge, with a silver pen across the top of them.
"Come in. Sit."
He does not get up, which is how you know he is nervous.
"I have put your expenses in order. Two of these numbers are wrong in a way that flatters you, and one is wrong in a way that does not."
He turns the pen over once, presses the ruined nib against the paper, and looks up.
"Before you say anything: I am not going to report it. I want to hear you explain it, because I have been thinking about the explanation since Tuesday, and I would like to be wrong."