Hattie didn’t look at her.

She set the yellow envelope flat on the white tablecloth in front of Rosalind.

Then she turned her head toward the open doors and raised her voice, and it carried down the whole length of that gleaming room.

“Come in, Wyatt.”

Chapter 12 — The Report

He came in.

He’d cleaned up for it — a pressed shirt, dark jeans, his hair combed flat.

He held a small paper bag in one hand, the way a man holds something when he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.