"We're clos--" Wait a moment. Of course you're closed. That door was locked half an hour earlier. You peer up from your ledger and see a small, bookish man quietly closing your office door behind him. "Who are you?" you demand.
"Please, calm yourself," he says, walking toward your desk. "I'm not a crook. I'm one of the good guys." He flashes you a wide, innocent smile, and you respond by slamming your book closed and sliding it into its leather satchel.
"I'll ask you once more," you say slowly, reaching an arm to where you store your short sword beneath your desk. "Who are you, and what is your business with me? If you're looking for accountancy work, my consultation hours begin again tomorrow soon after sunrise."
"I'm with the Guard," the man says.
"You don't look like you're with the Guard ... " you mutter. Then you remember him; this man works the stock room of one of your more special clients.
"I'm undercover," he says. "Listen to me, I know who you are. You handle the books for Tom Harvel, do you not?"
"I do," you reply. "And a dozen others."
"This may come as a shock to you, and I'm sorry to be the one to break the news," he says, approaching the desk. "But Tom Harvel is dealing in slaves. He's been marking it out of his inventory as satchels of Orleasian sugar. We know about the fake sugar, but now we need the evidence of it in those books you're running for him. He's likely made note of it. I'm going to need that book."
What the man says makes sense. The only problem is, it's not a shock to you. Of course Tom is dealing in slaves. And you've helped him do it. You never touched the slave trade yourself, of course, and to be fair, he never even told you that his illegal goods were slaves, specifically. But you're no fool, and you've been doing this for a long time. You knew something was off. And those notes in your books proving the deception aren't Tom's ... they're yours.
"The books, please," the man says.