Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Hugo shrugged. It was infuriating. “I did.”
“What did it say? Where is it? I want to see it.” And that wasn’t quite the
truth either. What if it was bad? What if across the top, written in bold letters
(and in Comic Sans!) was a summation of Wallace Price’s life that was less
than flattering? HE DIDN’T DO A WHOLE LOT, BUT HE HAD NICE
SUITS! or, worse, NOT THAT GREAT, IF I’M BEING HONEST!
“It’s gone,” Hugo said, looking back down at the folder on the counter.
“Once I review it, it disappears again.”
Wallace was incensed. “Oh, it does, does it? Just disappears back to
wherever it came from.”
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t see the problem with that.”
“No?” Hugo said. Or asked. Wallace wasn’t sure.
Wallace threw up his hands in exasperation. “Who sends it? Where does it
come from? Who writes it? Are they objective, or is it filled with nothing but
opinionated drivel meant to defame? That’s libel. There are laws against it. I
demand you tell me what was said about me.”
“Oof,” Nelson said. “I’m too old and too dead for this.” He shuffled away
from the counter toward his chair. “Let me know when our new guest arrives.
I’ll put on my Sunday best.”
Wallace glared after him. “You were wearing pajamas when I got here.”
“Your observational skills are unparalleled. Good for you.”
Wallace considered throwing a chair at him. In the end, he decided against
it. He wouldn’t want it going into a file.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Hugo said, chiding him gently. “There’s no list
of pros and cons, or of every action someone has taken, either good or bad.
It’s just … notes.”
Wallace ground his teeth together. “What did my notes say?”
Hugo squinted at him. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone has written something about me, I’d like to know.”
Hugo grinned. “Did you look up reviews of your firm when you were
alive?”
Every Tuesday morning at nine. “No,” Wallace said. Then, “Unless that
was written in my file. And if it was, I had a very good reason. I pissed off a