“At the curb,” Wade said, snapping his laptop shut.

“We’ve got fourteen minutes.”

The tall marble ceiling of the county courthouse magnified every footstep.

We got to the clerk’s counter at four fifty-two.

Arthur was already standing by the wooden railing near the window, talking quietly with a young sheriff’s deputy.

A man in a dark gray suit stood next to Arthur holding a blue legal folder marked with an urgent court stamp.

Arthur looked around as the heavy oak door swung closed behind us.