The bathroom was Percy's secret studio. He laid the aged paper over a light box—an old children's toy he'd brought from L.A.—and began the final, delicate work of the McConnell Map. The map itself was simple, a geologically accurate sketch of the area, but the core element was the faint, hand‑drawn circle near Hemlo, marked simply: "Anom.?" The sepia ink dried to look exactly forty years old. The Masterpiece was complete.
Liana was frantic. She was preparing a lecture on the economic geology of the Canadian Shield, but she couldn't locate a crucial report: a minor paper on the Sudbury basin from her early graduate days—the only paper where she used the now‑rare Chicago citation style.
Percy, holding the McConnell forgery concealed in a rolled‑up poster tube, approached Liana with a serious expression. "Mama," he said, using the professional language he knew she respected, "The Sudbury paper. You need the Chicago style report from the Auxiliary Storage. You said you stored it with the old 1937 McConnell Reports." He had manufactured the urgent, plausible need.
Liana's head shot up. The Chicago‑style detail—a ridiculous footnote of academic history—hit her with the weight of authenticity. "My God, you're right! I need that citation immediately!" She completely missed that a three‑year‑old had recalled a minor citation preference from fifteen years ago; she saw only the urgency of the missing data.
She hailed a taxi to the off‑campus Robarts Library Storage Annex—a concrete blockhouse far from the main campus—grabbed the access key from her purse, and instructed Percy to wait by the desk while she retrieved the box. Just as Liana was signing the log book, Dr. Victor Tassos walked out of the reference room, holding the same volume Percy had "sneezed" on the day before. Tassos stopped, eyeing Percy and Liana with mounting suspicion.
"Wainwright," Tassos drawled, holding the 1937 volume high. "I find it curious that your boy was playing in the archives yesterday. And now, you are here. Are you looking for something I might have, Liana?"
Liana, face tight with academic professionalism, forced a smile. "Just retrieving my old thesis notes, Victor. Nothing geological. Just a tedious citation." The small lie was critical; she couldn't afford a fight.
When Tassos finally lumbered off, Liana handed the key to the weary student assistant. "Box R‑74, please. My old graduate work." The student disappeared into the steel stacks. Percy knew this was his one and only window.
When the cart returned with Box R‑74, Liana tore into it, looking for the Sudbury paper. Percy moved like a quiet cat, slipped behind the cart, and drew the McConnell Map from the poster tube. He located the stack of historical surveys on the shelf nearest to where Tassos had just stood and, in one fluid motion, inserted the folded, aged map into the center crease of the Minor Geological Surveys, 1937 volume. The entire movement took less than five seconds.
"It's not here, Percy. I must have misfiled it," Liana said, slamming the box lid shut in frustration. She missed the whole event. They took a taxi straight home, Liana fuming over the missing citation while Percy remained perfectly calm.
By the time they reached the apartment, Percy was finally done with the high‑risk, black‑market logistics. The $25,000 seed money was clean, the $7,000 cover was set, and the McConnell Map—the academic catalyst—was planted, waiting for Liana to find it "accidentally" in some future, exhausted search. The paper trail was established; the next moves would be quieter and more surgical.