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crime. 
    At first, Reed didn’t get it. It would make sense for his dad’s access to sensitive information to be removed after his demise. Reed looked up at his guest with a questioning expression. Mr. Agile, always seemingly one step ahead, mouthed four words. “Look at the date.”
    Reed’s vision blurred after checking at the top of the form. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times, eventually focusing back on the print. The date on the parchment read March 7, the day before his father was killed. The time was 4:50 p.m. Reed heard ringing in his ears and felt a wave of nausea coming on. He replaced the paper on the table and peered into the blank stare of the old man across from him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Agile. Could you excuse me for one moment?”
    “Of course.”
    Reed left the conference room with more haste than he intended. As a matter of fact, he rushed out needing different air. He hurried down the short hallway to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face. He braced himself against the granite sink with both arms locked at the elbows as if to steady his weight. Regaining his composure, he hurried to his office, fingering his keys in his front pants pocket. Once inside his personal workspace, he unlocked a seldom used, private file cabinet and retrieved a folder full of his own dusty, yellow papers.
    It took him a few moments to locate the police report. He could almost recall the document and its contents by memory, but after Mr. Agile’s assertion, he felt compelled to verify the dates and times once again. There it was, recorded in several places, March 8. The newspaper clippings all said the same thing – March 8.
    Reed returned the folder to its correct place and locked the cabinet. He gathered his wits again and headed to the conference room. Mr. Agile and the old paper were exactly where Reed had left them. He took his seat, one word repeating in his head, “ Mistake.”
    “Mr. Agile, pardon my skepticism, but couldn’t this paper simply be a mistake? A computer error?”
    The older man displayed no overt reaction to the statement. He continued, “I considered that, but any of the Fed’s coveted computers having an incorrect date would have resulted in millions of financial transactions being in error. Every check cleared through the system would have been wrong. That would have made headlines all across the world. No, young man, there was no computer glitch.”
    After a drink of water, he persisted, “Now I understand that until 45 minutes ago, you had no idea that I even existed, much less that I would deliver such disconcerting allegations today. No doubt I have challenged a belief you have held for many years, and I’m certain you must wonder if this information is credible.” The older man paused and leaned forward toward Reed, his leathery hand resting on the lawyer’s jacket sleeve just below the elbow. “There are other inconsistencies,” he continued. “Do you know how much gasoline your father’s car had in it when the police discovered his body?”
    “No, I always assumed he had stopped at the station to fill up or use the restroom. After the car was returned to my family, my mother repaired the broken window and sold it at auction. I never wanted to see it.”
    Mr. Agile clasped his hands together on the conference table, apparently considering his next statement carefully. “I removed your father’s security clearance on the 7 th . It was the last thing I did before clocking out. Your dad was a really likeable guy, and his death – especially the circumstances surrounding it - troubled me. I was off work the following day, but received a phone call early that morning. Someone had tried to enter the building using your father’s magnetic badge, and the guard caught his image on the camera. The man was confused because the intruder looked like your dad. The sentry was following procedure and had noted that I personally removed your father from the system. At