He slipped the pink slips back into a heavy paper sleeve.

“Which means whoever turned in that document committed real estate fraud.”

“Can you get the application frozen before Friday morning?” I asked.

“Not without an emergency court order signed by a sitting magistrate,” Douglas said.

He snapped the brass locks on his briefcase shut with a double thud that echoed through the quiet room.

“Where’s the original signed draft right now?” I asked.

“Either in Trevor’s locked filing cabinet,” Douglas said, “or already on some loan officer’s desk downtown.”