John's assistant left the district records office with a brown envelope under his arm.
He did not look satisfied.
The work had taken longer than expected. In the morning, he had gone to the college records section and paid a clerk to let him see Adam's admission documents. After that, he came here, to a government office where old identity papers and address records were stored in tired metal cabinets.
Money opened both places.
Not easily, but it opened them.
By the time he stepped out, he had Adam's village address, his parents' names, a copy of an ID photograph, and two blurry images connected to the family record. The papers were not clean enough for official use, but John did not need official use.
He needed direction.
