“Somewhat,” he replied.

Somewhat?

I thought of my own introduction to nonprofits, from a class at law school. “What you have to remember,” my instructor had said, “is that while a for-profit’s goal is to make money, a nonprofit’s goal is to spend money, seeing that when all is said and done there’s none left over except the minimum required to keep it going.” I had found it an odd mind-set to get used to, though of course nowadays I worked with nonprofits almost exclusively.

“So you said you’re from a foundation?” Alan asked.

I nodded, glancing toward my printer. Glad to see it was on the last page, I stood and let it feed directly into my hand.

“Yes, though I’m not much of a number cruncher,” I said. “I leave that to the experts. I deal more in legalities.”

“I see. Is there something I could help you with around here?”

I could tell he was dying to know exactly who I was and what I was doing. Though I doubted the J.O.S.H.U.A. loan needed to be kept secret, you never knew who was privy to what information in any given company. I had learned a long time ago to keep my mouth shut and keep myself out of it.

“No thanks,” I said simply. “I’m all done here now.”

I gathered up my papers, put away my computer, and unplugged my printer. Once I was loaded up and ready to walk out, I thanked the man again for the use of his office.

“No problem,” he said warmly. “But here, let me help you.”

Despite my protestations, he took the printer from me and then insisted on carrying it to Wendell’s office.

We headed there side by side. I glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see that I had been working for nearly an hour. Mrs. Smythe would be here soon, I realized, ready to give me a tour of the office and take me to brunch. Then I could head out into the Pennsylvania sunshine, maybe take one nostalgic stroll around Independence Square, and head for home. Hallelujah.

When we reached Gwen’s office, she was back on the phone. She flashed us a quick smile and waved us through to Wendell’s door. Alan knocked once and opened the door just as I had done earlier. This time, however, the office appeared to be empty.

“Wendell?” Alan called.

There was no response except for a muffled “thump” from behind a closed door to the far left. Looking mildly embarrassed, Alan turned to me, lowering his voice. “Ah,” he said, “I believe he’s indisposed for the moment. I’m sure he’ll be right out.”

“Of course.”

Apparently, Alan intended to wait there with me for Wendell to come out of what I assumed was his private rest room. I put down my briefcase and computer and reached out for the printer.

“Well, here,” I said, taking it from him. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

“Oh, okay,” he replied, having no choice then but to go. “But don’t leave without stopping in to say goodbye.”