The building was nondescript and located far enough from Wall Street that the rent was low but close enough that it was still believable. The Old Man kept it for his out-of-town colleagues to use and they paid him handsomely to do so. The rest of the time, it sat empty. At least he wasn’t charging Jake to use it, since this was for one of Lizzie’s projects.

He trudged up the three flights of stairs to a door marked Abernathy and Associates Brokerage. It was one of several such signs available for use as needs dictated. Inside was a reception area where a hatchet-faced woman sat. A large ledger sat open on the desk in front of her, although he knew the numbers written in it were meaningless. A broken ticker tape machine sat in the corner, and a few chairs lined the walls for clients who would never appear.

“Good morning, Harriet,” Jake said, trying his most charming smile.

Harriet did not return it. “You’re late.”

Jake sighed. “Dock my pay, then, will you?”

She shook her head, refusing to be amused. “If you’re trying to fool somebody, you need to be good at it.”

She was right, of course. Jake knew someone had been following him off and on since his last séance. They’d followed him from Madame Ophelia’s to his rooming house, which made him uneasy, but no one there knew what he did for a living, so he was safe, but that meant he had to make a show of going to his job every day, at least until they stopped following him. Luckily, the building had a back entrance, where he could sneak in and out without being seen. He could always go out the front and walk to the Stock Exchange, too. They wouldn’t actually let him onto the trading floor, but he could slip into the building and lose his tail if he needed to.

“Shall I hold your calls?” Harriet asked sarcastically.

“Oh yes. Hold them all morning. I need a nap.”

Harriet shook her head again and went back to reading the meaningless numbers in her ledger.

Jake went through the other door to the inner office. This room was furnished with desks and papers purchased from a brokerage office that had gone out of business. No one knew what any of the papers meant, but the place looked authentic in case someone needed to fool a mark. Someone had thoughtfully added a sofa to the décor, and Jake slipped off his suit coat to hang it up before stretching out for the planned nap.

As he draped his jacket over the back of a chair, he noticed something white peeking out of the pocket. This wasn’t surprising, since he always carried a handkerchief. All well-dressed men did. But Jake’s handkerchiefs weren’t edged in lace and lace was what was peeking out of his pocket.