“Let’s,” said Rebecca, who was sitting sideways in her chair at the head of the table, her body twisted in what George recognized as an unconscious and literal manifestation of her desire to avoid facing Ruth. He slid his foot under the table and searched for one of hers to touch it in solidarity, while still not meeting her eyes.

“Interview with Rebecca Gottesfeld, granddaughter of the late Esther Gottesfeld, at the home of George Botkin, 42 West Tenth Street, New York City, December 9, 2001. Also present is George Botkin. Shall I begin with my questions?” Ruth asked. “I have my list. Or shall we start with the things you said you wanted to show me? I am so sorry we got off on the wrong foot, and I do appreciate the vote of confidence you have expressed, and I know you won’t regret your decision to cooperate with this important—”

“I’ll start,” Rebecca said. She opened the folder on the table in front of her and drew out the mysterious torn slip of paper that had been in the envelope along with the engagement photo. She and George had gone through everything from the safe-deposit box just an hour earlier, making a plan about what they would show Ruth and what they would hold back, considering all the variables. She put the slip on the bare wood in the center of the table beside the tape recorder.

“A credit slip! My goodness! Where did you get this?” Ruth exclaimed with far more genuine feeling than either Rebecca or George would have imagined her capable of having. At least she really was passionate about the material. She snatched it up eagerly.

“It was in with my grandmother’s papers, so I assumed it was significant,” Rebecca said, choosing her words with care. “Can you tell us what it means?”

“Oh my, yes! It is regrettable that it is torn, but yes indeed, here you have the date, the name of the machine operator, which we assume is Pauline Auerbach, the number of pieces—this would have been for the day’s work, so you can see here, the number of pieces completed was in the two hundreds, which confirms that she was a fairly fast worker with experience, which we know, and here at the bottom you have the name of the contractor for whom she worked, which, according to all my sources, Esther being one of them, and this confirms it, was Morris Jacobs.”

“Why would she have saved it?” George asked.

“That is a very good question,” Ruth said, laying the slip in front of her with reverence and giving it a little pat. “Ordinarily, these slips were handed in at the end of the workweek in order for the workers to be paid by the contractors. That’s why they’re so scarce—once the pay was calculated, the contractors would ordinarily have disposed of all the credit slips. The ones we see are the blanks, the unused ones.”

“Maybe this one had been thrown away by the contractor, and that’s why it’s torn,” Rebecca said.