The lead buyer stopped writing and scratched the side of his nose.

“Mr.

Sullivan, are we looking at the current asset list or the archived inventory?”

“The current asset list,” I told him.

“We retired those four forty-ton flatbeds back in June, don’t you remember?” Tiffany asked, smiling around the table at the three men.

I looked down at the copy of the March ninth child support waiver lying in my open portfolio.

The signature on the bottom line had a tall, looping top on the capital M, just like the sharp flourish Tiffany used when she wrote out her morning agenda on the whiteboard.