A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

I did not ask which stack.

I stood there with the receipt folded in my breast pocket and let the diesel smell drift off the truck.

Behind her, the white Mercedes ticked as its engine cooled, and Vivian had not moved off the fender.

“Eight o’clock,” Vance said.

“Wear your ribbons.”

The black leather binder closed with a snap that carried all the way to the fence line.

Vivian was still standing there.