‘Graft up,’ wrote Bullingsworth. Without rearranging the computer printouts again, he began to copy down the contents of the sheets. He worked all night long. When he was finished, he scrambled the sheets and read his handiwork.

‘Jeeezus H. Christ,’ he whistled. He looked through the glass door connecting his office with outside, saw Miss Carbonal arriving for work, and waved her to come inside.

‘Carmen, Carmen. Look at this. Look at what I figured out.’

Carmen Carbonal stuck her fingers in her ears and rushed from the office. ‘Don’t tell me nothing,’ she yelled.

He followed her to her desk. ‘Hey, don’t be afraid,’ he said.

‘You muy stupido,’ she said. ‘You big, stupid man. Burn that stuff. Burn that stuff.’

‘Aren’t you interested in what we’re really doing?’

‘No,’ she cried, sobbing. ‘I don’t want to know. And you shouldn’t want to know either. You so dumb. Dumb.’

‘Oh, Carmen,’ said Bullingsworth, placing a comforting arm around her heaving shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll burn everything.’

‘Too late,’ she said. ‘Too late.’

‘It’s not too late,’ he said. ‘I’ll burn it now.’

‘Too late.’

With great fanfare, Bullingsworth brought all the copies of the printouts to the private bathroom in his office and burned them, creating lung-choking smoke.

‘Now are you happy?’ he asked Miss Carbonal.

‘Too late,’ she said, still weeping.

‘I burned everything,’ he smiled.

But Bullingsworth had not burned everything. He had saved his notes, which, among other things, told him why his bank was willing to pay him a salary for volunteer work with the Greater Florida Betterment League. It also told him why so many Florida officials had suddenly been so successfully indicted for kickbacks and extortion. It even gave him a hint as to how the upcoming local elections would come out, and why.