"He's not using it. We have a use for it." Will shrugged, the nylon strap of the carry-all satchel pulling his fatigue-green workshirt awry at the collar. He adjusted the satchel of rollers and brushes, and kicked at the knee-high stack of paint-spattered dropcloths. "With Meg’s ’ware, it’ll be a snap, even for you. You jack in, adjust the accounts, and you’re done."