Old Accounts

Ash found the mistake in a column he had created himself.

It was Monday morning. The weekend had left an unfamiliar ease in his rooms: Delilah’s laughter remembered beside the kettle, the chair she had finally sat in on Sunday, a book she had lent him lying on the table without a deadline attached. He had opened his working record intending to answer Leonie’s request about the script. He had not expected the first difficult answer to concern something he had done before writing it.

Leonie had asked what he could properly account for, not for his whole Sable file. He had replied that he would take advice on what could be supplied. No customer records had arrived with her question. He could not fill in the gap by asking Delilah what her clients possessed.

His own opening index was enough to show him what he needed to examine.

On…