Inside this folder is a thick sheaf of personal letters, all signed Yours, Edgar. The first begins, Dear Leo, In the matter of the Nixon funds, please be assured that I consider your work in this area to be exemplary, and also a direct favor to me. He has his idiosyncrasies, yes, but he is a sound man, and we understand each other. The possibility of a Muskie or McGovern in the White House cannot be contemplated for one moment—

The woodwind oomph of a wine bottle being uncorked draws my gaze away from the safe. Livy has taken a bottle of red from Leo’s cherrywood bar and opened it with a silver corkscrew.

“Pretend it’s our lost bottle,” she says in a cynical voice.

She takes two Waterford goblets from the bar and fills them to the rim, then lifts one to her lips. She drinks a long swallow and passes it to me. Her upper lip is stained red, but she doesn’t wipe it. She simply watches me drink. I can’t read anything in her expression. The wine is tart on my tongue, acidic. She takes back the glass, drains it, then sets it beside the bottle and lifts the second glass to her lips. Half the wine disappears in three swallows.

She is more upset than I thought.

I turn back to the safe and flip quickly through the Hoover letters, searching for any mention of Del Payton, John Portman, or Dwight Stone. Most of the letters date from the seventies, after the secret relationship was well established, and deal with political matters.

“Is there a computer in here?” I ask, glancing at the 3.5-inch floppies.

“There’s a PowerBook in the bottom drawer of the desk.”

I’m reaching for the disks when Livy’s wineglass shatters on the floor beside me.

“Someone’s coming!”

As quickly as I can, I slide the manila envelopes back into the safe—all but the Edgar file—and shut the steel door.

“The rug!” she hisses.

While I unroll the rug, Livy shuts the trapdoor and jumps clear. I slide the rug into place just as someone begins jerking at the doorknob.

“Who’s in there?” says a muffled voice.

It’s Leo.

Livy thumps the envelope in my hands. “If you want that file, you’d better do something with it. Quick.”

Leo bangs on the door. “Who’s in there?”

“It’s me, Daddy. I’m coming.”

Unbuckling my belt, I shove the envelope down the back of my pants, retuck my shirt over it, then zip up and rebuckle the belt. As I do this, Livy unbuttons the top three buttons of her blouse and musses her hair.