It was a stack of photographs of Lee. Him as a cowboy. Him as a ladies’ man. Holding an épée. Gazing toward the horizon. And more. All brilliantly lit, they spilled onto the counter like rhinestones. The man picked one up.

“This would be you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leland Wheeler.” The frown continued. Eyes danced from portrait to Lee and back several times, and judgments were tabulated. “Where did you get the gaucho’s costume?”

“Well, it was …”

“And why did you send these photographs here?”

“I was just… I mean … opportunity.” Lee burned with humiliation.

“Handsome man,” he said, almost a murmur. “You should be in the picture show, Mr. Wheeler.”

“Really?”

“Let’s see. Five dollars … to … Mr…. Leland … Wheeler. I’ll go to the safe.”

So there it was: the Bureau had his real name. If he stayed, at least there was five dollars in it for him, as long as he wasn’t arrested. The man hummed to himself when opening the safe. It made Lee want to jump out of his skin.

“Okay, here you are.” The man was back again, counting out dollar bills onto the countertop. “We’ll take a dollar from each paycheck until we get it back.”

Lee took the money. He counted it. He put it in his pocket. He checked his watch. Six minutes. He should leave.

The man sighed. “Well, don’t spend it all in one place.”

Lee turned. He walked toward the exit door. Then he realized what was bothering him. He turned back. “Excuse me. Were there any—I don’t suppose—” This was a terrible idea.

“I’m sorry?”

There was no reason to do this. “Was, well, was my mother looking for me by any chance?”

“Beg pardon?”

Lee wasn’t about to ask if there was a bulletin issued announcing his absence. But that his mother hadn’t even tried to find him made him feel off balance.

The man put a finger to his lips. “Don’t go anywhere.” He made a brief trip to his desk and back. In his hand was now a small envelope. “I haven’t really been sure what to do with this. It’s sensitive,” he said. His eyes now tried to size Lee up. “How many other young men are there at your station?”

“Just the Field brothers.”

“Does their father work there, too?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re the only other man there, roughly your age?”

“Well—listen, I have an appointment—”

“Ah! Your mother is Emily Wheeler.” The man said this suddenly, a house on fire, propriety leaping out the window.

“Yes, she is.”

“Emily Wheeler,” he said to himself. “That was all anyone talked about.”

“Pardon?”

He cleared his throat. “In any case, I believe this is for you. It was delivered this morning by the Onondaga Nation.”

There was less than five minutes to go, surely. Four? Three? And yet Lee was frozen to the spot. “Excuse me?”